


All Life's Evils (Part 2)

by Bridge_Agent



Series: All Life's Evils [2]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bridge_Agent/pseuds/Bridge_Agent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2--Bucky's actions from the time he leaves the wreck of the helecarrier until his arrival in part 1, in which there is vengeance, remembering, and the Winter Soldier being a ruthless son of a bitch.  </p><p>(MCU x COMICS x Speculation/Slight AU–Part Two is mainly Gen, but with mention/memory of comics/MCU canon relationships. The details of Bucky’s time as the winter soldier is based on comic books events, the stuff relating to Zola is all MCU. Part Three will move toward Bucky/Natasha in the present.</p><p>Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Others will appear later. Graphic violence. PG-13)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Note--This continues from Part one. If you haven't read that first, you should.) Bucky will be alone with his memories for awhile, but his memories include people he cared/cares about.

 

(Two years earlier)

 

The Winter Soldier pulled a stolen SUV up to the front gate of the Washington Hydra facility, innocuous in its appearance as an industrial corporate headquarters. The guards in the Kiosk by the front gates looked surprised to see him. The losses must have been high. That was useful.

“How many have returned?”

One shook his head. “Not many.”

“Pierce?”

The guard shook his head again. He pushed the button to open the gate as the second guard picked up a phone, presumably to tell someone the Winter Soldier had returned.

The Winter Soldier raised the gun in his metal left hand that had been hidden from their view and shot both men. He couldn't get a clean headshot through the small window of the kiosk, so it was four grouped shots to the chest of each. He was fast enough that the second to die was still gaping at the first when he fell.

He didn’t know a lot more than he had when he’s pulled the target out of the water forty minutes ago, but the flashes of memory, images that had popped into his mind in a distracting way, told him that he wasn’t who he’d been told. As he'd started driving here, he’d seen himself being held down, fighting the doctors, guns trained on him like an enemy. He didn’t know who he was, but he was starting to get a good idea of who he wasn’t, and he wasn’t a loyal hydra soldier…or a free man.

His mind was still trying to tell him that he was both those things, but now that made him...so angry. He didn't remember enough to know why he wanted to kill them all, just that he didn't like being held down. He didn't like how coming back here made him feel. He didn't like...Hydra.

Driving into the yard, he pulled up to the garage bay nearest the armory and got out, trying not to jostle his broken right arm.

The bay door was open, the room, unoccupied. He could see gear piled up next to a vehicle. Preparations to flee? Likely. The mission had failed abjectly. If few had returned, it was because they were dead or captured. Those remaining would be waiting for orders, but preparing for not receiving any.

He crossed the empty bay to a door at the back.

_A zip line down a mountain…. He said, “Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?” He was with the target. Steve Rogers. The target answered, “Yeah, and I threw up?” He spoke again—not the Winter Soldier, but another ‘him.’ “This isn't payback, is it?” Steve Rogers grinned at him. “Now why would I do that?”_

The Winter Soldier’s grip was tight on the door knob. That was the first time there’d been words with the images.

He’d been in his head for at least two minutes. Two minutes during which he could have been discovered and killed. His mind was undisciplined, betraying him. That must stop. Remember later, if that’s actually a memory and not some damn hallucination.

The Winter Soldier strode up the hall toward the armory at a measured pace. He needed to re-arm. He’d lost most of his weapons fighting Steve Rogers.

There was a man inside filling containers with weapons.

“Oh, you’re back. They’re waiting for you in the lab, but I don’t think they actually expected you. You were on the helecarrier when it went down, right?”

The Winter Soldier raised his gun and shot the man, noting the split second of confusion on his face before the bullet entered his brain and he dropped to the floor.

“That’s how I feel, you stupid bastard.”

He put down the COP 357 derringer that had been all he had left after the fight and grabbed the weapons he needed most immediately, the ones he preferred—Sig Sauers, a Skorpian, knives to replace the ones he’d lost, smoke grenades and real ones…. He’d have liked a carbine, but he couldn’t use one with a broken arm, not without using it like an idiot who didn’t care where the bullets went.

After loading the weapons, he sheathed the handguns and knives and slung the Skorpian on his back. He took a replacement for his mask from a box that held extra pieces of the armor intended for his use, put it on, and adjusted the goggles over his eyes.

_“He’s unstable. Wipe him.” A different voice than Pierce, longer ago, but when? They strapped him into a chair. No one spoke to him, only about him. A doctor put a piece of plastic between his teeth. Pain. His body convulsed, his teeth clenched on the plastic involuntarily. There was only pain and his thoughts disappeared, even though he tried to hold onto them._

The Winter Soldier leaned on the wall and took a deep breath. Damn. They’d scrambled him good, hadn’t they?

Someone was going to pay for that. He'd seen enough pieces of things on the way here to believe it was real, but now...it was starting to feel real, too.

He pulled the door open, angry with himself, angry with the target, angry with those he’d worked for. Just…angry.

Exiting the armory, he went back into the garage bay, crossed the now occupied room to four men by the vehicle and said, “What are our orders?”

One of the men looked at him. “Jesus, you’re alive.” He shook his head. “Hydra Europe has gone to ground. We can’t contact any of them. Hydra Asia isn’t responding, either. Pierce hasn’t come back. Guessing they got him. No sign of Rumlow or his team. All your guys dead?”

The Winter Soldier nodded.

“Guess they’ve written us off. It’s every man for himself.”

“Yes.” He waited until the men had turned back to their loading of the vehicle, drew a Sig Sauer, and shot each in the head.

In the 9 seconds that took, the last managed to draw his gun and was raising it as the Winter Soldier took him down. “Slow.”

He meant the fallen man, but he knew he’d been slow, too. That should have taken less time. The pain in his arm was affecting his concentration even when the pictures in his head weren’t.

He left the garage and went to the staircase on the far side of the building’s lobby, ignoring the elevator. If the bodies were discovered, they’d lock that down immediately. The lab was in the sub-basement, so he continued past the basement door and down the stairs to the sub-basement.

The key card he’d been given worked on the lock on the door. That implied that he’d been expected to return voluntarily if he returned alone--but why wouldn’t he? He’d thought he was respected, feared and making the world better. Now, remembering being strapped into a chair, guns pointed at him, it was difficult to fathom how he could have thought he really controlled anything or did any good. What they’d done to him might not be common knowledge, but that didn’t make him any less of a joke.

They feared him, though. That part was true. Now they'd see what their targets had seen---the Winter Soldier coming for them. He was just getting started.

He opened the door and looked into the hallway. It was empty, but he heard voices in the nearby lab. They wouldn’t have been able to hear the gunfire above them, so he sheathed the Sig again.This would be easier if they felt it was business as usual.

He consciously relaxed his posture and walked into the lab, noting the positions and armament of the six guards inside as he entered—Glocks and M4A1 carbines. They stood as he came in, but he went past them to the three doctors on the far side of the room.

They were staring at him at him and he realized that they might never have seen him in full armor.

One put down the laptop he’s been about to load into a metal sheathed crate. “Winter Soldier! We weren’t told you’d returned.” He shook his head. “Things are going to hell around here.”

“My arm is broken. I need you to set it.”

A guard approached. “Let me take those weapons for you.”

The guard said it like he was an underling. Like he was helping him. Was that how they did it? Controlled him, disarmed him so they could wipe his mind?

The Winter Soldier raised his goggles and looked at the guard. “If SHIELD or the army gets here before you can evacuate, I’ll need to have weapons—and use of my arm.” He tried to look like a lapdog--like them--loyal to Hydra and unquestioning.

The man frowned at him, then nodded. “I guess you’re right about that.”

The three doctors—thirtyish with blond hair, older with receding brown hair, and very young with glasses—tried to get him to sit in the chair. He tried to look like he didn’t want to snap their necks. They were unsuccessful, but he must have been, because they went to work while he sat on a stool and ignored them when they tried to get him to move.

First, x-rays and a local anesthetic. Then they set the arm. It was uncomfortable, even with the anesthetic. They told him that both bones were broken—as though he hadn’t known that—but that the breaks were straight across, which was better than the alternatives.

Receeding brown hair shook two pills from a bottle and offered them to him along with a glass of water. “Just painkillers. Ibuprofen. They won’t inhibit combat if someone finds us.”

Nodding, he took the pills, swallowing them dry. Taking the water from the doctor’s outstretched hand, he chugged it down. When had he last had water? Too long ago. He held the glass out again. “More.”

After he’d drunk another glass of water and returned it, empty, blond hair approached with a sling and put it on his arm.

“There. All done.” The doctor stepped back. They’d done their jobs, but they were afraid. They hadn’t been able to restrain him. They were right to be afraid.

The Winter Soldier stood and turned to the guards. “Empty the armory. Take the weapons to the vehicle the others are loading.”

They hesitated long enough for the Winter Soldier to wonder if giving them orders was unusual. The men in the field had feared him and obeyed him. He could tell these guards feared him, too, but they weren’t responding quickly as the others had.

Perhaps these had never been under his command. The others had been Russian, while these were American. Was there a reason for that? Something he didn’t remember?

He set the goggles over his eyes again. “Go. I’ll accompany you and guard the men loading the gear. We need to evacuate quickly.”

There was another moment of hesitation, then one nodded and they all left the lab, making their way to the elevator down the hall.

The Winter Soldier held back as the others got on the elevator, appearing to adjust the sling as though it was giving him problems. One second.... Two seconds.... The last of the guards stepped inside and looked at him questioningly. Three seconds.... He took the armed grenade he’d been holding, hidden by the sling and tossed it into the elevator. Four seconds..... The doors closed.

The explosion shook the walls and the ground beneath his feet. The doors tried to open again, but the bent frame of the elevator only allowed them to open about a foot before they jammed. The inside of the elevator was a red smear of body parts, viscera, and blasted ceiling tiles littering the floor.

He smiled. “Boom, suckers.”

Turning back to the lab, he drew the handgun that still had a full clip.

Glasses doctor rushed into the hall, alarm in his expression. “What was that?”

The Winter Soldier raised his weapon and fired two rounds into the doctor’s stomach. He waited a moment to let him feel it before putting a bullet between his eyes.

Stepping over the corpse, he entered the lab, the gun trained on the two surviving doctors. He tipped his head toward the laptop he’d seen earlier. “What’s on that?”

Their eyes widened and brown hair said, “You’ve broken your programming!”

The Winter Soldier shot him in the knee. “How’d you guess?”

The doctor screamed and collapsed to the floor.

“What’s on the computer?”

Tears of pain running down his face, the man gasped “Your records…debriefing, mind wipe data, programming notes...god damn you…my knee…fuck….”

Keeping his gun aimed at the remaining doctor, the Winter Soldier opened the laptop. “What’s the password?”

Blond hair’s voice shook as he said, “If I tell you, will you let me live?”

“Yes.” Lying. Oh, yes, lying.

“How do I know that’s true?”

The injured doctor was moaning, but managed to say, “Don’t…tell him anything…Hail…Hydra.”

The Winter Soldier shot him in the face

“You don’t, but….” He put the gun to the man’s head.

“O…Ok! Ok. capital G, 5artd2, capital R, ed, capital S, kull.”

Red Skull…that sounded…familiar. Not now…don’t remember now….

The Winter Soldier turned back to the computer and entered the password.

Blond hair kept talking. “You’ll also need this to access some of the restricted files. Passwords.” He reached into his pocket and took out a USB drive. “See? I’m helping, ok? Don't kill me. I can help you get away. You need help for that, right?”

After taking the offered drive and putting it in a pocket, the Winter Soldier looked through the files, stopping when he found a video dated the day before. It was like what he remembered while in the armory—him strapped down, plastic between his teeth, only now he could see that they were doing something to his brain. This time, it started with him talking about remembering a man—Steve Rogers? Had he seen him before the helecarrier? Had he tried to make him remember then, too?

The Winter Soldier frowned at the screen and played the video again. He looked…lost. Confused. Not like himself at all. What the hell was wrong with him? Was that what happened when what was in his head conflicted with the programming? Why wasn’t he like that now, then?

He’d just sat there when Pierce slapped him. Did Pierce have some kind of control over him that these others didn’t? Was that part of the programming? It must have been, or he would have ripped his damn arm out of the socket, but how did he know that was Pierce? How did he remember? How did he know anything?

He looked at blond hair. “How do I remember things after you wiped me? Like how to fight?

Blond hair looked even more frightened now. “I…I don’t know. We never touched that. You could always fight. We just wiped short term memories, the things you’d remembered or learned since your last wipe then put back the ones you needed to function—like who your superior was. We couldn’t wipe every part of your mind or you’d have been useless. I can’t tell you any more than that.”

The Winter Soldier raised his gun. “How did I get here? Who am I? Why don’t I remember if you didn’t make me forget that?”

The doctor raised his hands and his voice was shrill and panicked when he spoke. “As far as I know, you never had any long term memory. Maybe they took it a long time ago, I don’t know. Maybe you were like that when they got you. I don’t know who you are, or how you got here. There’s a rumor that you were an American soldier during World War 2 who was captured by the Red Skull, but that’s just gossip. All I did was make sure you didn’t remember.”

_A man. Nazi. A man he hated wearing a uniform he hated just as much. He didn’t feel good. They’d done something to him. The Nazi spoke. “No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see, I was his greatest success!” The man pulls off the skin on his face, revealing a red skull beneath. The person the Winter Soldier used to be looked at Steve Rogers. “You don't have one of those, do you?” Was that real? That couldn’t be real…._

A hand grabbed for his gun, pulling on his arm.

The Winter Soldier fired, shooting blond hair in the shoulder.

The hands dropped.

He fired again, hitting the doctor in the chest. He fired four more times into the man’s head until the clip was empty.

The Winter Soldier’s hand was shaking and ragged breath was loud in his ears as he took out another clip and reloaded the weapon.

That had been his own damned fault. He couldn’t be captured again, not now. Not now that he knew he was something besides the Winter Soldier. Not now that he’d seen what they’d been doing to him---and not by some idiot he let pluck the gun from his hand because his brain was busy at the time.

Picking up the laptop and the ibuprofen, he left the lab. He needed to get out of here. He couldn’t know what tricks his mind might play.

Going up the stairs, he did a fast room-by-room search of the building, killing anyone he found, taking their money, searching for computers, USB drives, external hard drives, useful peripherals, food, water, clothes, and anything else he might need. He was good at going unseen. He knew what to do and what he needed.

When he was done, he put it all into the vehicle the men in the garage bay had been filling—a large SUV--along with what contents of the armory he thought would be useful.

At the time he left, one hour and forty minutes had passed since he’d arrived. It had been two hours and twenty minutes since he’d pulled Steve Rogers out of the water, simply because he’d thought he might have use for him later. Now he was starting to think the man he’d once been might actually have been his friend, as he’d said.

In that two hours and twenty minutes, any highways that had still been open would have been blocked. The airports, buses and train stations would have been searched and watch set. They’d be checking motels, hotels, campgrounds and rooming houses—searching wooded areas for vehicles. They’d also know the hydra safe houses as soon as someone talked, if they didn’t already, and they’d find the headquarters he’d just left soon enough. After that, they’d be swarming all over this neighborhood.

He needed to hole up somewhere until his brain stopped cutting out on him and until he could use both arms, at least to a degree.

The Winter Soldier examined a map he found in the glove compartment, planned his route carefully, avoiding major roads leading out of town and routes to anywhere they’d consider high risk for escape or attack. Once he planned his route, he drove, always looking like he knew where he was going, doubling back to spot potential tails, keeping on the move until he could find an appropriate place to stop.

It took most of the night, but he eventually found just what he needed. On one street close to a former industrial area, he found half a block that had been gutted by fire, but was still unrestored. One of the brick buildings still had an intact garage. It had metal bars over a covered window, a metal security door as its entrance, and an industrial steel vehicle door. Tattered strips of police tape still clung to the edges of both doors.

It was an unpopulated block that may have been dangerous enough that it would be avoided.

His mind started to wander, wondering how he could think enough to take note of such things when he remembered so little, but he pulled himself back on track. Spending time on how and why he wasn’t a vegetable got him nowhere.

No one was around, so he broke into the garage. It was surprisingly empty for something so intact and secure, but the previous police activity might explain that.

After driving the SUV inside, he closed the doors and secured them in a way that would warn him if anyone attempted to enter.

He’d stay hidden there long enough for things to calm down. Three or four weeks should do it, at least enough that he could move to somewhere marginally better and arrange a way out of town. Food might run short, but not by too many days if he was careful with the snacks and rations he’d procured. He had enough water. The water was the important thing.

The Winter Soldier sat on the ground, leaned back against a rear tire of the vehicle, the Skorpian across his lap and stretched his legs out in front of him. Every single inch of his body hurt. His head hurt. His goddamn hair hurt. He took the bottle of painkillers out of his pocket and took two more.

He was trying very hard not to think about anything. He was too tired. Too damn tired to take any more. He had too many thoughts in his head, not just a mission, but all kinds of thoughts and they wanted to run over top of each other and around in circles and he had to control it...hurt and....

He was asleep in seconds, but he couldn't control his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, yes. I *do* make major edits after posting....

The Winter Soldier woke in exactly the same position as he’d gone to sleep, probably because his muscles felt like they’d seized into a solid mass, defying all movement.

 His dreams had been a mixed up mess of his fight on the helecarrier, another fight with the same people and others somewhere he didn’t remember, and disconnected people and places that he thought were from his past, but might be something they’d just wanted him to believe. How could he tell the difference? He felt anything but rested.

He lifted his metal hand to touch his ribs. Something wasn’t right there. Probably cracked. If they were broken, it would be worse. Like, can’t sit up without a lot of cursing. Maybe even can’t breathe. He was lucky, all in all, but…

How did he know that? Had he broken ribs some time in his past? Was he remembering or was that the kind of general knowledge that he’d somehow retained when he’d lost who he was? Had they added it because it was useful for your puppet to know when he was broken?

He took out the bottle of painkillers and took two. How did he know to take two? Damn it, Stop that. They’d given him two before. He knew because he wasn’t a goddamn idiot.

 

_He was lying on top of a building holding his sniper rifle. The target would be coming out of the building below any time. He was focused. He was ready. He…an image filled his mind, distracting him…a small apartment…a frail woman. The Winter Soldier shook his head and looked through the scope. Focus…._

 

Had he always had flashes of memory? Had he known what that was? Had he cared or was it just an annoying distraction from the mission? It was damned annoying now. He wanted to remember, but it would have been a lot more useful in bigger pieces.

The Winter Soldier put his metal hand to his ribs and got up, wincing. Diffuse light came in through the cover over the window, but it was very dim. He could see enough, though.

He opened the back of the SUV ripped open a carton that held ration packs, and sat on the edge of the open back of the vehicle to eat. The thought crossed his mind that rations had improved, but he didn’t know what he was comparing them to.

 

_A pair of worn boots sat next to a narrow metal bed. He swung his legs off and sat up, shoving his feet in the boots. It was just before dawn. He heard a trumpet. He was tired. He hadn’t slept. He didn’t feel right._

 

World War Two? Had the doctor’s gossip been correct? Had he been a soldier then? How long ago was that? Did the whole world really fight? What were they fighting over?

Damn it. He was getting really tired of not knowing the answers to anything. He needed to remember. That thing he remembered from when he was at the armory…. The Winter Soldier focused on that he’d seen—the room, the chair the feel of the plastic in his mouth and the device closing on his head….

_“Sir, he's...he's unstable. Erratic.”_

_He felt confused. He’d…remembered—a face…the target…who was he?_

_Pierce came over to him. “Mission report.”_

_He didn’t answer. He was busy seeing images that made no sense. Pierce didn’t seem important._

_“Mission report, now.”_

_He stared at Pierce._

_Pierce hit him in the face._

_That didn’t seem important, either._

_“The man on the bridge...”_ _The man on the bridge had called him ‘Bucky.’ The man who was so damn hard to kill._

 _He didn’t know who Bucky was, but it felt important._ _“Who was he?”_

_Pierce answered him. “You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”_

_He didn’t remember that. He remembered the man though. He didn’t know how or from where, but…” I knew him.”_

_Pierce sat down. “Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped this century, and I need you to do it one more time. Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we're gonna give it a push. But if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves.”_

_Those things used to be important, he know that, but they didn’t feel important now._

_“But I knew him.”_

_Pierce stood. “Prep him.”_

_“He's been out of cryo-freeze too long.”_

_“Then wipe him and start over.”_

_Pierce didn’t sound pleased, but the Winter Soldier didn’t care. He was looking at the pictures in his head and thinking—then there was no thinking or seeing. Just pain._

 

That was yesterday, what he'd seen in the video and now he knew why he'd just sat there _—_ or part of the reason, anyway.

The Winter Soldier rubbed his temples, frowning.  They hadn't given him the target’s name. He hadn't known who he was

Had they been afraid it would make him remember something? Remember being ‘Bucky?’ What did prepping him mean? Was that how they made him behave the way they wanted? Was that how they’d made him believe he was doing something necessary and good?

There were too many thoughts in his head. Too many. It was too busy…too loud in his mind…Fuck, it was chaos…it was—

Was this how other people were? How did they function? How did they complete their missions? How did they keep track of all the pieces?

Stop. Take stock. Inventory—like weapons…like ammunition.

He was an assassin. They brought him out of stasis in times of great need. He’d believed himself to be valued for his skill, strength and contribution.

He hadn’t respected, though. He’d been a puppet. A weapon.

 

“ _Your work has been a gift to mankind.”_

 

He'd believed that. He thought it was a lie. If that was a lie, like the rest was a lie…who was he? _What_ was he? He was the Winter Soldier. He was an unknown called Bucky Barnes. He might have fought in a war.

Images flashed through his mind.

 

_Sick men, dead men, wearing a uniform he’d seen himself wearing. This was Bucky Barnes. These men had been his friends. His comrades. He was angry. He was afraid._

 

Bucky Barnes had friends. Friends he mourned.

He wasn't Bucky Barnes. He was the Winter Soldier and he didn't know what the hell friends were. Trust was a weakness to be exploited.

There were things he thought he always knew—the things he needed to be able to do to ensure success of a mission. How to plan and fight, how to blend in, how to kill and slip away unseen.

He also knew how to instill fear by leaving a swath of destruction in his wake, although that was rare. He knew that because what had happened today had seemed wrong. It had been sloppy, unsubtle and he hadn’t approved.

When he’d thought about Hydra, it was always in the same words. Exactly the same words. That must mean it was what they’d wanted him to think.

He could think of questions to ask about Hydra now, but he hadn’t questioned before. Maybe he wasn't supposed to be able to.

He hadn’t killed everyone at the base because he known much of anything. He’d killed them because he’d been angry—because he’d needed medical help and he didn’t want to leave witnesses. He’d killed them because killing them felt right and he'd wanted to do it.

He killed them because a few words from the target had made him doubt everything. He thought Steve Rogers didn’t lie. Why did he believe that?

The Winter Soldier pulled the computer out of a bag and opened it awkwardly. The sling was a pain in the ass.

He opened the medical file. Gunshot wounds…shrapnel wounds…. .  More minor injuries than he could count. Broken ribs, so maybe he’d actually been remembering something about that. Looked like he broke a whole bunch of bones in one day. What happened there? It must have been pretty bad since a big piece of helecarrier landed on him and he was fairly sure nothing except his arm was actually broken, just—

 

_There was an explosion beneath him. The catwalk collapsed and he fell with it. He was screaming in terror as he fell._

 

His stomach churned, bile rising into his throat. He managed to move away from the vehicle before vomiting up everything he’d just eaten, his metal hand on a wall to support himself. 

He was shaking and he had no idea why. He hadn’t fallen that far. Had he thought he’d keep falling? All the way to the ground? The Winter Soldier shuddered with a horror that seemed out of proportion to the possibility. It didn't matter how you died, only that you complete the mission, but it wasn't mission failure that was—

 

_A moment of relief as he stopped falling, then metal pinned him down. He couldn’t move it. He’d die now. He’d drown, trapped in the rubble as the helecarrier fell. He struggled anyway, knowing it was futile._

_No, the target._ _There he is._ _He’ll break your neck. Easy kill. God damn it. Easy kill. Can’t get out, can’t…trapped, trapped, damn it. Not like this…._

 

He’d expected Steve Rogers to snap his neck, cut his throat, to do something to kill him quickly and efficiently. He’d been helpless. Trapped, helpless and unable to defend himself, but Rogers hadn’t taken advantage of that. Why? He’d tried to kill the man. He’d shot him repeatedly. Rogers owed him nothing, but he hadn’t killed him.  He’d freed him, allowing him to continue his mission. It was inexplicable and stupid in a way that the Winter Soldier couldn’t understand. It made no sense.

 

_“I’m not going to fight you. You’re my friend.”_

 

The Winter Soldier didn’t think that pulling Rogers out of the water because he might need answers from him later was the same. He didn’t think that made them friends. Did Rogers? Did he really think they were friends because they’d known each other in a past he’d forgotten? 

The men he fought beside for Hydra weren’t friends. He hadn’t liked them or cared about them other than as means to an end. He hadn’t known them, and he hadn’t wanted to. He’d happily kill them all now, just like the doctors and the men at the base.

Why had Rogers freed him?  He could have just left him to drown in the wreckage. It would have been so easy. He’d been trapped.

He hoped nothing would happen that made him fight Steve Rogers again. He didn’t want to kill him. That nagged at him in a way that was uncomfortable and confusing. He didn’t know the why of any of it and that bothered him.

The Winter Soldier went back to the computer again and forced himself to focus.

Some of the files were locked and had to be opened with passwords from the USB drive that the blond haired doctor had given him. He didn’t know why they were locked. None of it seemed detailed or useful. There was an incompleteness to the records, as though the contents had been heavily censored for those without clearance. They were all recent, too, just as he’d been told.

He thought there’d be more about who he was. He also wondered if he really wanted to know, but what he wanted didn’t matter. He had a feeling it never had. He _needed_ to know and that was all that was important right now.

He found a file called ‘Contacts.’ There were names and addresses for what looked like all the contacts he’d used on missions in the period the records covered. Not all were Hydra. There were notes about how he’d compelled cooperation with the ones who weren’t. It also seemed that the ones who weren’t were assets he’d developed on his own.

Each had notes following as to whether this was an asset which should be removed, cultivated, or forgotten—and about whether they should worry that he ‘still’ showed independent thought beyond what was necessary for combat, and whether some new protocol was sufficient.

The Winter Soldier forced down a wave of anger. Concentrate on the mission…. Only the mission matters…. An incomplete plan means mission failure. Mission failure is unacceptable.

Some of these contacts had been eliminated. Some had been recruited. Of the rest, some were probably dead, but any who weren’t might prove useful. This arms dealer in Gdansk, for instance…. Or the information broker in Paris…. Ah…this was good. A Russian mobster in New York…One he’d already intimidated into helping him before. Sure, it was fifteen years ago, but he could remind him why cooperating was a good idea. He didn’t remember the mobster, but the mobster would remember him. If he was dead, he’d remind the family. 

He opened the folder with videos in it that he’d found yesterday, then hesitated. He didn’t really want to watch them.

All of a sudden, he felt tired and everything seemed to hurt more. Lying down and not moving, thinking or remembering anything at all seemed very tempting, not that he thought he’d be able to do that.

Later. He’d watch them later. He had plenty of time. He’d be stuck in here for weeks, if he followed the plan.

The Winter Soldier stood and looked around the small, dark garage. It was dark and confined in here.

He didn’t like it.

He was regretting the plan. It had seemed like a low risk option the night before when all he’d wanted was to sleep and be alone with his fragmented mind, but now…with the prospect of staying in this small space stretching ahead of him…the walls felt too close. It felt more like a trap than safe haven.

 

_Trapped…. He struggled against straps that held him to a gurney. Goddamn Nazi fuckers. Can’t, can’t…. Here he comes—_

_He already felt sick. He already hurt. There was a reason that fear knotted his gut. This had happened before. He knew what was going to happen._

_A short, round man with glasses picked up a syringe from a tray and injected the contents into his arm. It burned. It…oh, God…._

_He gritted his teeth. “Barnes…Sergeant…32557038. “_

_The man smiled at him. “You’re already giving me what I want, Sergeant Barnes.”_

_He wanted to punch the fat asshole’s smug face until it turned to mush._

_The man put the empty syringe back on the tray and left._

_There was a machine above him. It turned on. Light. The light made it worse. So much worse. It felt like his insides were turning inside out._

_He bit down hard on his tongue, tasting blood. He wouldn’t scream. He wouldn’t tell them anything. He was no traitor. Fucking Hydra._

_His muscles knotted. All of them. It felt like his bones would break. Goddamn…hurt like hell…. Everything was going dark. Was he dying? “325…57038.”_

 

What the hell was that? What the _HELL_ was _that?_

The Winter Soldier started walking in a circle around the vehicle—walking fast. It made his ribs hurt, but he welcomed the pain now. It was real. It was sharp and it was NOW. There was nothing confusing about it.

 

_Another place. He was wearing a different uniform, a blue one. He was confused. He didn’t know where he was or what was happening. He saw the man with glasses without recognition. "Sergeant Barnes... the procedure has already started. You are to be the new fist of Hydra!"_

 

The Winter Soldier stopped, leaning on the vehicle, hunched over, his hand pressed to his side. The person he'd been in that memory hadn’t recognized his name or the man, even though he was sure the other memory was earlier. Was this when they took his memory?

 

 _He was with Rogers on a catwalk. He saw the fat man standing with a man with a red skull for a head. red skull...the Red Skull. The fat man was looking at him in a way that made him angry._ _He wanted to kill Zola more than he'd ever wanted anything. He wanted to grab his head and twist until he heard the crack of his spine. He wanted to hurt Zola…stick a knife in his eye and listen to him scream. Cut open his gut, pull out his entrails, wrap them around his throat and choke him with his—_

_His jaw clenched. He was angry with himself._

 

Wanting the kill had worried Bucky Barnes. No, it was the way he'd wanted the kill. He'd felt like it was wrong. 

Why? The fat man had tortured him for weeks. He was his enemy. 

The Red Skull was his enemy. 

Hydra were all the enemy.

Bucky Barnes had hated Hydra. Cooperating with them was treason and he was a traitor. 

 

 _Barnes…Sergeant…32557038_ ….

 

 _Barnes, Sergeant, 32557038_.

 _Barnes, Sergeant, 32557038_.

 _Barnes, Sergeant, 32557038_.

 

Everyone he’d killed for Hydra had been someone he should have saved.

 

 _He saw himself setting a bomb, pleased that he could take out all his targets so easily. It was convenient_ _that they’d gathered. The collateral damage was unfortunate, but necessary…._

_He lined up a headshot from a rooftop. It was a difficult shot. The wind was strong and he was far away. He pulled the trigger and watched the target’s head explode, the man’s brains splattering his wife’s face. He smiled, satisfied that his skill had achieved what would have been impossible for most…._

_He was holding a weeping man by the shoulder as he plunged his knife into his stomach and ripped upward, gutting him, hearing a child’s cry as he killed her father…._

 

The Winter Soldier’s breathing quickened, unnameable emotions surging through him, new and uncontrolled. Hot tears blurred his vision and he blinked them back, gritting his teeth. His jaw clenched, a low moan escaping him and he dropped to his knees, pounding his metal fist into the concrete floor again and again, cracking it and pulverizing the cement under his hand.

He leaned on his metal hand, slinged arm hanging useless at his side, and his head hanging down. He tried to control heaving breath—tried to stop thinking or remembering, but he couldn't.

He was the Winter Soldier.

He was skilled and deadly.

He was Hydra's fist.

He was a brutal killer and he'd been proud of that. 

He was a traitor.

He could never be Bucky Barnes again, because Bucky Barnes would never have—

Damn it! Stop. Stop it. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t make so much noise. Don’t be an idiot.

The Winter Soldier picked himself up, taking deep breaths.

Traitor. 

He didn't know what he'd betrayed, other than Steve Rogers, but he knew that the word made him feel...what was that? He didn't know but he didn't like it. The Winter Soldier tried to put a name to the cold, sick feeling in his gut.

Shame. That was shame. He remembered the word and knew that was a correct thing. That was what a traitor _should_ feel.  It was shameful to be Hydra. It was shameful to be a traitor. It was shameful to be the Winter Soldier.

 

_“I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend.” Steve Rogers dropped his shield_

_He lunged at Steve and knocked him down, his fist hammering the unresisting man's ace. “You're my mission! YOU ARE MY MISSION!”_

_Steve could barely talk, eyes swollen shut, blood on his face, but he said, “Then finish it. 'Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line.”_

 

Why? WHY WOULDN'T HE FIGHT HIM? How could he call him his friend or still think there was anything of Bucky Barnes left in him? Bucky Barnes would rather have died than become what he was.

Maybe...he should put a bullet in his brain. He deserved to die, like the rest of Hydra. He was their fist. The world needed to be protected from him.

STOP. Remember the mission—survive.

No. That wasn't the mission. Destroy Hydra. Stop them from making anyone else a traitor. Make them pay. That’s the mission. 

He wasn’t going to be able to stay here. It was the smart plan for survival, but mission parameters had changed. He couldn’t waste time while Hydra scrambled to disappear. Find them. Hunt them down.

He couldn’t undo what he’d done or go back to being Bucky Barnes, but he could kill every fucking person who ever thought Hydra or the Winter Soldier was a good idea. 

The Winter Soldier changed into some of the stolen clothes, took out another pack of rations and stowed the rest of the gear away again.

After closing the back of the vehicle, he took the map from the front seat where he'd left it and began to form a new plan. He'd go to New York. He'd get identification and force the mobster to get him out of the country. He'd comb through the computer until he'd gotten every lead on Hydra he could, and use those to find out more.

Hydra had made the Winter Soldier. Now the Winter Soldier was going to unmake them. Make them beg to die. That was what the Winter Soldier was good for.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve knew they wouldn’t be letting him out of the hospital any time this week, but two days after Bucky had fished him out of the Potomac—and he knew that he was alive because of Bucky, no matter what anyone else might think—the nurses hadn’t argued too hard about Sam bringing him his laptop. Yeah, they would have preferred it if he slept, but he’d been stuck in bed enough when he was a kid for it to get old for him real quick.

Checking his email, he saw that there was one from ‘a friend.’ He hesitated for a moment before opening it as he’d been told that emails from unknown senders often contained viruses, but not many people had his email address and this was a VERY secure computer, given to him by Nick Fury, who hadn’t trusted him to set up his own. Steve thought that he probably hadn’t been wrong.

He opened the email and read:

 

_‘I’m guessing that putting two and two together is nothing new for you given how quickly you saw through our little deception when you woke, but I’m sending this along anyway, just in case you were too busy or distracted to do any adding. Don’t do anything stupid. We know why Erskine picked you and not some other guy and your friend isn’t you. My advice? Wait to see what he does before you do anything. He may not be who you hope. Look at 7:16. Don’t try to reply to this. It won’t work.’_

 

There was no name, but he knew it was from Nick Fury.

There was an attachment. Steve opened it and started the video inside.

It looked like satellite footage, starting really high up then zooming in farther than anything but a military satellite could zoom in. In fact, the image of him and Bucky fighting on the highway was good enough that he was kind of disturbed. There just wasn’t any privacy anymore, was there?

He moved the video along to 7:16 to have a look at what Fury wanted him to see.

It was when he and Bucky had been fighting after he’d shot Natasha. His back was against the van and Bucky was trying to stab him. Bucky--the Winter Soldier, then—had brought the knife down so hard it went into the metal of the van. He’d tried to push Bucky off, but couldn’t.

Wait… Steve backed the video up and watched again, then stopped it a little after the time Fury had given him. Oh…shit.

Steve felt like an idiot. It was so obvious, but…he’d _always_ thought that Bucky was strong and fast. Bucky had always been there to back him up, even when he hadn’t figured he needed help. He’d always jumped in, fists flying, when they were kids and Steve couldn’t remember any of the bullies and thugs lurking on the Brooklyn streets ever getting the better of him.

He hadn’t really thought about the fact that Bucky had been able to fight toe to toe with him, because he’d just figured that Bucky was in great physical shape since they’d basically made him into a weapon. That he was just that good a fighter, had been given a pretty terrifying metal arm and was maybe amped up on some kind of Hydra drugs---because he’d _always_ seemed that good.

He backed the video up again and watched as Bucky drove the knife into the van, ripping metal the length of it, but that wasn’t what he was watching. He was watching himself trying to push Bucky’s arm away from his neck and not being able to budge it, even with both hands. Not his metal arm. His flesh and blood one. Bucky was using both hands to hold the knife, but it was his ‘normal’ arm that Steve hadn’t been able to push away, even with all his super soldier strength.

Bucky was a super soldier, too.

He thought about what Erskine had told him about the serum—that it enhanced all aspects of a person, including character traits and how determined he’d been to pick someone he thought was a good man for the trials so he didn’t make another Red Skull.

Fury didn’t think Bucky was a good man. That was why he sent this. He thought Hydra had given Bucky serum at the same time they gave him the arm and that the serum had made him the Winter Soldier as much as brainwashing….

Well…that was bullshit! Bucky was the best man he knew. He’d always worried about him and tried to protect him. He was only the Winter Soldier because he’d tried to protect him when he’d gone down on that train. Bucky had picked up his shield and gotten between him and the Hydra soldier, no other cover, just shooting at the guy straight on and had gotten blown out of the train for it.

Steve scrubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes as he saw Bucky reaching for his hand, the rail breaking off and him falling. He heard that scream again and it just…ripped him up, like every time his brain replayed that for him.

His hands stilled and dropped from his face. His eyes widened. Damn it. He really was an idiot. He’d figured that Bucky must have been next to death when they found him, or maybe even briefly dead, creepy as that was to think about. He’d thought that they must have had to rebuild his broken body and that his arm had simply been beyond repair.

He’d thought that because it was _beyond his fucking imagining_ that Bucky wouldn’t have told him that they’d made him into some kind of super soldier in that room he’d found him in on the Hydra base—that he would have kept it secret from the army doctors, the Howling Commandos and especially from _him_. That he would have kept it entirely to himself when he was changing in ways that must have been terrifying.

Jesus, Bucky….

Why the hell would he _do_ that? Steve dragged his hands over his face.

Because he was protecting him, damn it. He wouldn’t want him to worry and he wouldn’t want the army to know. If the army had known, they would have dragged him away somewhere for testing. They would have wanted to know exactly what kind of super soldier Bucky was. They wouldn’t have let him join the Howling Commandos and Bucky wouldn’t have thought that was okay—because Bucky always watched his back.

Goddamn it, Buck.

He must have been so scared of what was happening to him….

Steve thought about the way Bucky had smiled less and less, his intense focus on their missions, how good he was at doing the Howling Commandos’ dirty work and he knew what kind of super soldier Fury thought Bucky was.

He thought about what Bucky had said when they’d plucked him out of boot camp to send him for special training  with the SAS before Steve had been able to join up—about how they’d said that he’d had abilities that most soldiers didn’t have—abilities that the serum would have enhanced.

He thought about how Bucky had fought as a kid.

Bucky had always been an aggressive fighter. He’d always charged in even when outnumbered and used quick wits, agility and cunning to win. Sometimes Steve had thought he fought dirty and had said so once, but that had just made Bucky laugh and say, “We won, didn’t we? And it was seven to two. Ya can’t argue with results, punk.”

He’d almost never gotten angry in a fight, saying “Let ‘em get your goat and you might as well tie one hand behind your back.”

The Winter Soldier hadn’t been angry, either—not until they’d fought on the helecarrier and he’d tried to make him remember who he was. He’d been brutal, even savage, but not angry.

Had Bucky had it in him to be brutal back when they were kids? Was that what they’d seen at boot camp that had made them send him for special training? Was that why he’d been so good at doing the dirty work? 

It made him really uncomfortable to admit, but he thought the answer was probably yes.

Or had they seen the concentration and stillness, the makings of a good sniper? He  had that, too, and in spades, although you'd never guess it if you saw him on a night out.

Steve thought about what he knew about the SAS and about the eerily calm expression on Bucky’s face when he’d pulled out a knife and snuck into enemy camps to take out the sentries silently and with deadly efficiency.

He thought about how meticulous Bucky had been about plans with the Howling Commandos, how still and patient he’d been when they’d needed him as a sniper, and about how many times Bucky had picked off a target the rest of them hadn’t even known was there, his expression quietly focused.

Maybe the Winter Soldier _was_ Bucky with super soldier serum, but if that was the case, he knew that the Winter Soldier must have thought he was protecting something and that Hydra had somehow managed to turn off the part of Bucky that knew right from wrong. The things the Winter Soldier had done, that wasn’t Bucky. He’d never believe that was Bucky. He knew him. Bucky fought dirty, but he was a good person and that good person was still in there. He _knew_ it.

Steve frowned. If Bucky got super soldier serum, why wasn’t he bigger? He was the same height he’d always been and while he was more muscular than he’d been before the war, he hadn’t changed enough physically for it to strike anyone as odd.

The Red Skull hadn’t been that big, either, though. Maybe Erskine had come up with something new and Zola had been working with the old formula?

It made Steve feel sick to his stomach to think of Zola giving Bucky anything like what had created the Red Skull, but that had to be it. God, no wonder Bucky hadn’t smiled much.

Aww, damn it, Buck. You should have told me….

Well, none of this changed a thing. It just explained some stuff that he’d have noticed a long time ago if he’d known how good Bucky was at keeping secrets. If anything it showed that Bucky was still the same guy they’d noticed at boot camp, long before he’d gotten the serum and that whose most defining qualities hadn’t been his fighting, but his sharp humor, love of fun, and good heart. Those things were still there and just as enhanced as his strength, speed and fighting.

It _did_ mean that Steve really wanted to go back in time and give Bucky a punch in the head, though.

He was still going to find Bucky and make sure he was okay. He was still going to make sure that Bucky knew that they’d _always_ be friends and nothing could ever change that.

He wasn’t going to try to force him to do anything, because God knows Bucky’d had enough of people taking away his choices, but he had try to help. He just had to. It was about time Bucky let him watch _his_ back for a change.


	4. Chapter 4

Getting to New York was less of a straight line and more a tour lesser roads and small highways. He stopped frequently so that he didn’t look like he was trying to flee the area—and because he found that he got hungry more often than he expected, which made him think that the food he was eating wasn’t meeting his nutritional requirements.

It was also pretty disgusting, delivered far too quickly to have been cooked when he ordered it, often oddly cold, and not what some part of him expected, although he didn’t know why.

The memories were less intrusive, which was good. It would have been hard to drive, otherwise. It wasn’t that they were happening less often, it was just that now that he was out of the dark garage, they had less to do with…the things he’d been remembering.

 

_Don’t think about being trapped…._

Or maybe it was that now that he had a clear mission—a good mission—his brain wasn’t pushing him so hard.

His mind sometimes played music that Bucky Barnes must have liked and he found he did, too. It wasn’t like the music on the radio. The radio music had been annoyingly chaotic. It didn’t help him think at all.

He’d listened to the radio as he was leaving Washington to see what the news was saying about Hydra. They talked like the threat had been eliminated. Foolish, but it made his mission easier, so he was pleased.

He didn’t hear anything about a manhunt, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t looking for him. He would assume they were and continue to monitor the second radio in the vehicle, one that let him listen to police activity.

Hydra would be looking for him. They were less of a problem. He could kill them.

_Don’t kill police. Don’t kill American soldiers. S.H.I.E.L.D.? How would he know if they were Hydra? He’d better not kill them unless they shoot first._

His brain was dredging things up randomly

As he drove, he’d been remembering smaller roads, small gas stations with only one pump out front and general goods of all kinds inside. Now they seemed to carry potato chips, soda pop and candy almost entirely.

At the moment, he was remembering gas stations. Most of them weren't anything he was driving by, so it was probably from a long time ago.

 

_White Rose, no, MobilGas…_

_Gulf Oil…_

_Shell…seen that, still around…._

_Atlantic Gas…._

_Texaco…._

Two cars were stopped at the side of the road ahead. Late model SUVs. Potential threat.

The Winter Soldier pulled a Sig Sauer from the holster under his jacket and put it on the seat beside him, regretting that the sling on his arm wouldn’t allow him to drive and hold it at the same time.

As he pulled abreast of the vehicles, he saw camping equipment, children in both vehicles and a dog urinating by the side of the road.

Threat level minimal. A single child and a dog might be a cover, but not that many. Too many variables to control.

He continued driving, tense shoulders relaxing.

_Standard Oil…_

_Globe Gasoline…._

_Sunoco motor oil—keep your engine full powered!_

As he drove, the Winter Soldier continually scanned the other vehicles on the road, noting who was around him—if a vehicle appeared too often—if anyone seemed to be trying to keep his vehicle in sight.

If he was being followed, it would be by a multi-vehicle team, so it wasn’t if vehicles stayed with him—although he noted that, too—it was if they reappeared.

He pulled over frequently and waited for the flow of traffic to pass him by and occasionally followed vehicles that he’d seen more often than he was comfortable with to observe the occupants.

Sometimes, he took unwanted exits and drove in the wrong direction for an hour or so.

Hydra had suffered a big enough loss that he didn’t expect to be located this soon—organization was in a shambles—but his sense of good practice demanded that he behave as though they knew exactly where he was.

He was aware of the possibility that there was a tracker in the vehicle or in the goods he’d scavenged from the base, but he was fine with that. It was convenient to kill your enemies when they came to you, you just had to keep in mind that you were the bait and plan accordingly.

His brain continued to be occupied by inconsequential trivia, and he wondered just how much of what was in Bucky Barnes’ memories was unimportant crap.

_Someday all beer cans will open this easy—Schlitz beer._

_20,679 doctors say, Luckies are less irritating—Lucky Strike._

_Everyone’s saying ‘spam’, the new miracle meat by Hormel._

_Echophone—latest in radio_

_Hires Root Beer—Hits the spot and how!_

Why was all this garbage in his head? He didn’t even remember what most of those things were, except beer and root beer.

The Winter Soldier pulled over at the next gas station and went in to buy a root beer. It tasted good.

When he started driving again, the ads were gone, but his mind moved on to a kaleidoscope summary of a selection of Bucky Barnes’ female companions—it was disjointed, confusing and without context.

A woman with beautiful eyes winking at him, a different one--bright smile—laughing, another with a wearing an old-fashioned dress—it looked good and she liked to dance. Music and drinks on a bar—condensation clinging to glasses. Hands clutched—and lips on his. There were dimly lit rooms, beds, moonlight, and tangled sheets.

It was not unpleasant to remember, if alarming in how trusting he’d been. The Winter Soldier sensed no comprehension of vulnerability to attack, no weaponry at hand…. The lack of situational awareness appalled him.

Still, the women seemed to like him. None of them had wanted to kill him.

Bucky Barnes, that is.

There were many houses along his route. Everything ran together with little space between. That seemed increasingly strange as he drove through what he felt like should be open fields in New York. There were no specific memories to tell him that should be unexpected, just a feeling that he was lost when the map told him otherwise.

From the map, he knew that by taking the major highway—I95—he’d have arrived in New York in approximately three to four hours, not accounting for traffic variables, but the route and detours he was taking made it far longer. Twelve hours after he’d begun his journey, he was approaching Staten Island, where the Russian lived.

It was early evening when he approached his goal. Too early. He wanted the cover of darkness for recon before he made his presence known.

The Winter Soldier got a room at a nearby motel. The man wanted a credit card, but didn’t complain when he paid for a week in advance with cash, and accepted his story of a lost wallet. When he had to sign the register, he wrote ‘Chester Phillips,’ but he didn’t know who that was.

He kept his head down, hat pulled low, to obscure his face. Surveillance cameras tended to be set high and look down. When he used them, he always set more than one, at various levels and angles.

He knew he couldn’t avoid being seen entirely, but he could minimize the risk.

Signing the register with the hand that was in a sling was an awkward business, but he knew that the glove on the other gave the impression that it was the less functional hand. The man at the desk was looking at him with pity in his eyes.

That was good. Underestimation was always good.

“You need some help with your bags, Mr. Phillips?”

The ‘mister’ seemed wrong. Who was Chester Phillips? What was he, if not a ‘mister?’

The Winter Soldier shook his head and picked up the key, again, with the hand in the sling.

Once inside his room, the Winter Soldier took off the sling and the removable cast on his arm. He went into the bathroom and shed his clothes, looking at the shower.

He knew that it was important not to stand out by smelling bad. He also knew that he currently did.

The Winter Soldier examined the small bottle on the counter next to the tiny bar of soap. Shampoo. Yes, he knew what to do with that. Conditioner? What was conditioner? It said ‘for hair’, but there were no instructions on the bottle. He put the bottle back on the counter and took the shampoo and the soap.

Turning on the water in the shower, he found himself filled with anticipation.

It turned out there was reason for his anticipation. Showering was glorious.

Even though he knew that the entire time he showered, he was at greater risk, he was unable to make himself stop until the water ran cold.

It was approximately seven hours until he wanted to begin this phase of the mission, so after dressing in one of his sets of mission clothing—the brown set that covered his arm—he put the cast back on over top of the sleeve, without the sling, and pulled out the various USB and external drives he’d collected on his way out of the base.

He created a new file on the computer he’d taken from the doctors and typed in any names and locations of Hydra bases and personnel that appeared, as well as anything else that would be useful for his mission.

He also found some memos that made it clear that they’d had no plans for extracting him after Hydra had won the day.

 

 _“Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped this century, and I need you to do it one more time.”_

 

One more time. They'd planned to kill him.

Like that would have worked. Idiots.

He thought of himself sitting passively while Pierce hit him. Damn it, maybe they could have. He might owe Steve Rogers his life.

The Winter Soldier cleared off the bed, took a couple painkillers, and lay down on the bed that felt too soft. He should rest. If things went badly tonight, he’d need to be on his toes. He wasn’t at peak form and his broken arm was only partially useful, even with the sling off.

 

_“…32557…038….” Everything hurt…everything…not dead…will be…._

_“Bucky.”_

_He opened his eyes, but he wasn’t seeing. It was too much work to focus. Besides, he didn’t need to see the hallucination. It hurt enough not seeing it. Bye, Steve…don’t do anything stupid…’cause… I’m not coming back…._

_He heard a soft “Oh my God.” That didn’t make sense, so he ignored it. Someone shook his arm._

_“It's me, it's Steve.”_

_He felt a flicker of hope and made himself look. “Steve.”_

_Was this real…? Was Steve really here?_

_“Come on.”_

_Steve helped him sit up. Oh God, it hurt._

_“Steve.” Real?_

_“I thought you were dead.”_

_“I thought you were smaller.” Was this real? It was real, but…what the hell…. Steve was…huge!_

_He was weak as a goddamn kitten. Don’t pass out…don’t pass out, damn it…_

_“Come on.”_

_Steve helped him stand and had to hold him up. He couldn’t have walked on his own._

_He looked at Steve. It was just so fucking bizarre. “What happened to you?” It was hard to talk. The words came out mumbled._

_“I joined the army.”_

_He…what? Jesus Christ. Steve …what the hell…._

_He could walk on his own now, but he was staggering. He didn’t feel normal, but that was to be expected after all the drugs they’d pumped into him—it’s not just that, and you know it—it is just that, damn it. Steve was here and he was getting the hell out and…Steve…what the hell happened to him?_ _“Did it hurt?”_

_“A little.”_

_Oh shit, what if it’s temporary? What if it wears off?  He wasn’t in any shape to protect Steve and if it did, it wouldn’t just be him that died here, it would be Steve, too. Damn it. "Permanent?”_

_“So far.”_

_What the hell did that mean? Steve sounded happy. That meant that he didn’t think it would wear off. It better not, it damn well better not…._

_They got to a catwalk overlooking the factory floor in time to see the whole thing blow to hell._

_He could run now. Sort of.  He was steadier on his feet. He didn’t even hurt so bad. The little voice in the back of his mind told him that wasn’t normal, that he’d been in worse shape than this, and he shouldn’t be able to stand up on his own, much less run. He focused on climbing the ladder up to the second floor where there was a catwalk across the factory floor, forcing himself not to think about that because it scared the hell out of him. There was no time for that crap now._

_When they got up to the next level, the Nazi who ran this damn hellhole, Schmidt, came out the door on the other side, followed by Zola. He walked forward, all confidence, saying “Captain America! How exciting! I am a great fan of your films!”_

_Captain America? Films? He was dreaming, wasn’t he? He was still unconscious and he was going to wake up strapped to that gurney…._

_“So…Dr. Erskine managed it after all.” Schmidt was looking at Steve. “Not exactly an improvement, but…still, impressive.”_

_What did he mean by that? He couldn’t have known what Steve looked like before, could he? Who was Erskine?_

_Steve walked forward to meet Schmidt. Steve was acting like he could handle this and damned if he didn’t believe he could. Steve had always had the moves, just not the size and now he was bigger than anyone he’d ever met._

_He wasn’t paying attention, though. He was staring at Zola because Zola was staring at him. Zola was staring with him like it was Christmas and every damn thing he ever wanted was under the tree. Goddamn it, what did that freak do to him? Why was he looking at him like that?_

_A spike of naked fear sent adrenalin rushing through him._

_He wanted to kill Zola more than he'd ever wanted anything. He wanted to grab his head and twist until he heard the crack of his spine. He wanted to hurt Zola so bad…stick a knife in his eye and listen to him scream. Cut open his gut, pull out his entrails slowly, wrap them around his throat and choke him with his—_

_Jesus Christ. Payback was one thing, but…Jesus Christ. Get a grip._

_He stopped looking at Zola, because his reaction scared him almost as much as the mystery of why Zola looked so pleased and intrigued._

_Steve hit Schmidt and said, “You got no idea.” It was a serious hit and it showed him what Steve was capable of now, but Schmidt didn’t go down._

_Schmidt staggered and put a hand to his face. What the hell was wrong with his eye?_

_“Die.” Schmidt punched Steve’s shield and left dents in it. He punched again and knocked Steve down. Steve's gun went over the edge of the catwalk._

_Why was everyone punching like pile drivers?_

_Goddamn it, he needed to get out there and help Steve, but the railing was kind of holding him up. He was going to try anyway when Steve brought his feet up and kicked Schmidt ten feet backward onto his back._

_Zola stopped staring at him and pulled a lever that retracted both sides of the catwalk, taking Schmidt back to Zola and Steve back to him._

_Schmidt stood up and said, “No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see, I was his greatest success!”_

_Erskine made Steve like he was. Erskine did something to Schmidt, too. That’s why they could both punch like that. Okay. That made sense—but not really._

_Schmidt reached up and pulled the skin off his face._

_Oh God…Erskine made both of them like they were…Steve…. Still staring at the red skull that was Schmidt’s face, He said, “You don’t have one of those, do you?” Say no, Steve…I’ll still be your friend, if you do, but for the love of God…._

_Steve didn’t say anything._

_He was gonna have to take that as a ‘no’ so he didn’t puke._

 

The Winter Soldier woke and sat up, his eyes wide. The feeling of shame that he’d felt when he’d realized he was a traitor was back and stronger beyond anything he could measure.

Steve was his friend--his best friend.

There was something wrong with him. he was having trouble breathing. He tried to take a breath, but he couldn't get any air in. His lungs felt like they were seizing up.

Steve had saved his life before and….

He shot him, he—

The Winter Soldier saw himself beating Steve, beating him until he was almost unconscious and his eyes were swollen shut. Beating him while Steve bled out from a gut wound _he’d_ given him.

He was supposed to have Steve’s back, make sure nothing happened to him, but he’d tried to kill him. He’d _wanted_ to kill him.  He’d fucking _enjoyed_ it when he shot him in the gut.

Breathe, damn it…breathe…why couldn’t he—

Steve hadn’t fought him because he was gonna let himself be killed, rather than kill Bucky Barnes

He thought that the Winter Soldier could be Bucky Barnes.

Raw panic surged through him.

He didn’t know what to…didn’t know how to—

He wasn’t functioning. He couldn’t do this. Breathe. Stop… _stop_ , damn it.

He had a mission. He had to accomplish his mission. He wasn’t...he couldn’t—

Breathe! You will complete your mission. _You will complete your mission!_

He managed a deep gasping breath. Then another.

Hydra will pay and they’ll never do this again. They’ll never do _anything_ again.

Breathe, goddamn you.


	5. Chapter 5

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

The Winter Soldier dropped his metal hand to the floor and cartwheeled out of the way of a spray of bullets. Pulling out a smoke grenade, he tossed it into the largest group of the Russian’s minions, off to his right.

As the cloud obscured visibility, he drew pulled his Skorpian off his back and fired into it, hearing the cries of pain as his bullets hit home.

Wheeling around, he shot a man with an AK-47 who was had moving into position behind him.

The Winter Soldier ran across the room and vaulted over the top of a marble-sided bar, then fired into the group that surrounded the mobster, Alexi Krupin, at the front of the room.

They were trying to move Krupin out of the room like a human shield. Or ants. He remembered ants....

The men scattered. They were loyal, but not  _that_  loyal.

The Winter Soldier picked off the most immediate threats on both sides of the room, putting the Skorpian on his back when the clip was empty and pulling out his Sigs. It was all too short a time before he had to pull out his secondary handguns.

He was ridiculously outnumbered. Only an idiot put himself in the middle of this kind of fight and he was certainly an idiot. He had miscalculated and the Winter Soldier blamed the nagging memories and the turmoil they created in his mind. He had become distracted, undisciplined.

He'd failed to account for the fact that Krupin had seen Hydra fall in the news and would make assumptions when seeing the cast on his arm. Krupin had thought that there was no need to do as he asked, because he was not a threat.

Krupin was wrong, but now he was forced to kill anyone with a weapon in their hand, which defeated the purpose of coming here, and while vastly outnumbered.

If he’d actually  _planned_  to kill these gangsters, he could have done it without even being seen. Stupid. So goddamn stupid…. Mission failure—and it was caused by his inability to think clearly enough to have foreseen this fucking likely outcome.

Twelve dead. Five incapacitated and no longer capable of combat. Ten more still engaged—six plus the elderly Krupin on his left, four on his front right, two of which were trying to flank him. He shot those two.

Activity in the hall entrance to his immediate right. Reinforcements.

The Winter Soldier holstered the secondary weapons and took the Skorpian from his shoulder again, forced to take the time to change the clip. He fired on the new arrivals, who were well into the room and shooting by the time he could do so. Bullets ricocheting off the marble of the bar. Eight more dead, but it was only luck and their near panic that had kept him alive.

Had he ever been in a fight this amateurish? He hoped not. It was embarrassing.

Magazine empty. He ducked down behind the bar to reload again. Two surviving, but wounded reinforcements on his right were moving around the edge of the bar and would be able to fire before he could do so and raise his weapon again.

The Winter Soldier rolled away from them, around the other side of the bar, but he was awkward with his broken arm that wouldn't bear weight. Too slow.

Two bullets ripped through his armor then deflected off his metal shoulder, one bullet grazed his side, and another hit his left thigh. Pain. Crap.

Ignore it. Assessment: not incapacitating—the bullet passed through muscle, but blood loss was a factor. He needed to finish this fast.

He shot them and then focused on Krupin’s group at the front.

Drawing his knife, he threw himself into their midst, hearing cries of alarm. They couldn’t shoot with him, moving among them as fast as he was—not without shooting each other, too. He was too close to Krupin for them to risk it.

One: throat cut. Two: knife between ribs. Spin to engage behind him—third thrown into the wall with enough force to knock him out—no, neck broken. Removed from combat. Holster knife. Enemy weapons retrieved. Four and five shot, only Krupin left—punch to the head.

Crowd cover gone, move, four left on the right.

The Winter Soldier dropped the retrieved weapons, put his metal hand on the floor, pushed off and vaulted into them, feet first. Two down but not out. Pulling one of his third tier weapons, The Winter Soldier shot two who were still standing, then shot the two who were still scrambling to get up.

All threats eliminated.

Walking over to Krupin, the Winter Soldier picked the horrified-looking gangster up by the throat. He’d managed to leave Krupin alive. Perhaps the mission could be salvaged?

No. He’d have to find another way. He couldn’t trust anything the man could be brought to do.

The Winter Soldier dropped Krupin and raised his gun.

“No wait! I’ll do what you wanted. I’ll get you the ID and arrange a way out of the country!”

“No, you’ll get me the ID, tip off the police, and then contain me while pretending to get me out of the country.”

The Winter Soldier shot him between the eyes, then killed the wounded. No witnesses.

 

———————————————————————————————————————————————————

 

Steve was sitting in a chair next to his bed surfing the internet when the email came in. He was allowed to leave his bed, but still attached to the IV. Gut wounds made eating food problematic.

Like the previous email, this one had no sender listed, but the lack of pithy advice made him think that it wasn’t from Fury. Maria Hill, probably.

There was one sentence of text: “Krupin had Hydra connections. Winter Soldier?”

Apart from that, there was only an attachment, a police report about what had to be called a slaughter at a Russian gangster’s estate five days earlier. Thirty-eight dead inside the house, including Krupin, and another six outside. The guard dogs were unharmed.

Steve rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh. Bucky always did like dogs.

He looked at the pictures. There were bodies and guns everywhere. It looked like a battlefield. Jesus, Buck. How did you live through that?

Sam lowered his newspaper. “What?”

Handing Sam the laptop, Steve closed his eyes. “I hoped he remembered me and would find me before he did anything. I hoped he’d…not do something like that.” Damn it, Bucky…you going to war on Hydra by yourself? Or have they turned on you?

Sam scrolled through the report. “Holy shit. Seriously, Steve, Holy shit.”

“I don’t think he went in there to fight them. He’s better than that. Bucky always hated stupid plans and that one would have been really stupid. I mean, that must have been really iffy, even for the Winter Soldier. I think he went in for something else, and things went sideways. Or they betrayed him.”

Steve took the laptop as Sam passed it to him. “I hope he’s ok. It must have been raining bullets in there.”

Sam looked at him, a serious expression on his face. “Steve…there were  _no_  survivors. Not one. That doesn’t happen by accident.”

His heart sinking, Steve looked away. “I know.”

 

————————————————————————————————————————————————————

 

The Winter Soldier was perched on a ledge outside a Hydra base in the Uinta Mountains in Utah. He’d been there for two days, watching movement and counting people. He’d failed to plan adequately when confronting Krupin and that wasn’t going to happen again.

He was tired, though, and that created the possibility of mistakes in a different way.

Rather than let the memories just…emerge while he was awake, he’d been suppressing them, forcing his mind into the present, into constant reconnaissance and threat analysis. He felt more engaged in the moment, but it was difficult to maintain, and images still flashed through is mind before he could control them.

Sleep was also a problem. The more he controlled his waking thoughts, the more his sleep was disturbed by vivid dreams, lending what he was learning about his past a surreal aspect that overlaid actual memories with the unreality of nightmare.

He rarely dreamed something he thought was as real as his dream about Steve in the Nazi base.

He still wasn’t sure about the Nazi taking his face off, though. That might not have been real. Nothing he was remembering said that people could take their faces off.

On the way here, he’d stopped at a Hydra bases in Illinois and Arizona, looking for more information, some way to make the documents he’d need, or a way to leave the United States. While he’d found more stored files to sort through, he was no closer to escaping the country.

He’d left those bases in flames and all of the occupants dead. There was a rightness to that which he didn’t feel when he thought about what had happened at Krupin’s ornate fortress. Something was bothering him about that fight, like an unknown memory scratching to get out, and it wasn't his lack of foresight.

Stop thinking about it. Focus on now. There’s a truck approaching.

Focus. Discipline. Function properly. Go.

The truck pulled up to the entrance.

Through the scope of his sniper rifle, he saw the driver get out and enter a code in a security panel. He couldn’t see all the numbers but he remembered the finger positions and could deduce the numbers from that.

Good. The entrance might close before he could get there from the ledge.

As the heavy metal door started to rise, he shot the passenger in the chest.  From this angle, he couldn’t make a headshot. That was ok. The gun was high caliber and he essentially blew the man’s heart out of his chest.

The driver yelled and ran to take cover behind the vehicle. Too slow. The Winter Soldier shot him in the head as he reached the truck.

The Winter Soldier went down the mountainside, taking long jumps from rock to rock. His leg was still a little sore, so it wasn’t comfortable, but it had healed to all intents and purposes. The arm…it had mostly healed in the five weeks since it had been broken. He still couldn’t put any weight on it, but it was usable in a functional manner.

When he got to the entrance, the door was closing, but he was able to roll inside before it did, pulling the Skorpian off his back as he rose to his feet, and shooting the guards inside the door.

The panic that they felt when they saw the Winter Soldier was very helpful. They managed to fire, but fear reduced their accuracy.

Like all the bases, this was constructed of thick metal walls and heavy steel support beams, so he felt comfortable using grenades. As men and women poured into the hall from the rooms ahead of him, he tossed one into their midst and painting the walls with their blood and guts.

From there, he moved up the hallway methodically, constantly scanning for threats—aware, hunting—entering each room to be sure it was clear and kill any occupants before going forward. There were surprisingly few. There were labs, offices and barracks, but they only held small numbers of people hiding, some with weapons, some without.

The ones with weapons, he fought until they were dead.

The ones he came across those without, he shot as they cowered in places they thought hid them.

He didn’t shoot them non-fatally, then watch them scream for a bit before killing them. He’d developed a nagging feeling after the last base he’d neutralized that he shouldn’t do that, satisfying as it was.

It took him fifteen minutes to make his way to a large circular room at the end of the hall.

There, it became clear why he’d encountered little opposition after the first rush into the hall. It was quite literally lined with Hydra military, hunkered down behind makeshift cover near the walls.

He spun out of the doorway again, his back to the steel wall. Bullets bounced off the walls inside and flew through the doorway into the hall beyond him.

The Winter Soldier took out a grenade and pulled the pin, then threw it hard enough that he heard it bounce off the far wall of the room. It exploded, accompanied by a satisfying amount of screaming.

Was it okay to enjoy that…?

Screw it. He was glad they were dying, and he was glad it hurt.

One of them tried throwing a grenade at him—one of theirs, not his. He was using grenades with a dangerously short timer that he carried for circumstances just like this. He knew that their’s were probably like the one he’s used at Pierce’s headquarters, a more standard 4 to 5.5 second time to detonation window.

He picked it up and threw it back at them, smiling as he heard their cries of alarm followed by the explosion.

After throwing two more of his own in quick succession, bullets bouncing off his metal arm, ducking back to the shelter of the exterior wall each time, he rolled inside, landing in a crouch as he fired in a circular pattern around the room.

When he stood, there was no one left but the wounded and the dead. He replaced the Skorpian’s magazine, put it on his shoulder and drew a Sig Sauer.

Checking the bodies, the Winter Soldier took any weapons he liked, collected ammunition and killed the wounded with a single shot to the head.

This was good. Hydra had made the Winter Soldier—it was right that the Winter Soldier end them.

 

_A base like this one, he was walking up a hall, led by six guards, but unresisting. A room, a bed, shackles…he didn’t fight. A needle in his arm. Confusion. Nightmare. Fear. A voice…soothing, telling him what was real. He believed the voice.  He had to believe the voice. The voice told him who he was and what to do…._

The Winter Soldier realized that he’d been standing over a corpse staring at nothing and he didn’t know for how long. Damn it!

He looked around a frisson of fear stopping his breath for a brief moment.

He was still alone.

That could  _not_  happen _._  It was going to get him caught.

He didn’t like being in these bases, and they all smelled the same, but that was the mission. It was necessary. The mission must succeed.

After this one, he’d take a few days and let the memories come out as they wanted to—it was better for a while, if he did that. Right now, he had to get a grip.

Moving forward, all his senses alert, he went into the last and final room.

It was even bigger than the previous one, a hanger with a helicopter in it, the retractable roof opening as he entered. The pilot was already onboard and there were three men and a woman putting equipment inside.

There was panic in their movements and their fear made the winter soldier smile. He raised his confiscated handguns, a Glock and a Sig P220, and shot them one after the other.

He could have shot them two at a time, but it was more fun this way. These were leadership and killing them was particularly satisfying.

He stalked around to the pilot’s open door and pointed the Glock at the man’s head, watching beads of sweat roll down the pilot’s face. He noted details—5’8 more or less, overweight, unlikely to be a physical threat—but that wasn’t what he was paying attention to. He was watching the man raise his hands in the air like it meant something.

He stared at the pilot’s hands for a moment, then a dark, rusty chuckle emerged from his lips. “That’s funny.”

The pilot didn’t think so. The pilot wet himself. A stain spread on his pants and the Winter Soldier could smell the urine.

That was funny, too.

“Where were you taking them?”

“An a-a-airstrip near here.”

“Where were they going?”

“A b-b-b-base in G-Germany.”

“Is the flight plan cleared? Can it leave without inspection?”

“Y-yes…Hydra personnel e-ensured it….”

“Good. Take me there. If you try anything, I’ll shoot you.”

He was going to shoot him anyway, but the pilot didn’t know that.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: edited for clarity and stray typos

Sometimes circumstances simply don’t allow for a plan. You just have to go with what you have on the fly.

The Winter Soldier preferred to avoid such circumstances

In this case, the circumstance was finding a plane capable of flying to Europe for which highly suspect arrangements had been made for it to skulk out of the United States without inspection. That was a stroke of luck that only his very fortunate timing had provided.

Another stroke of luck was that the plane was more than capable of flying from the private Hydra airstrip between the Uinta Mountains and Salt Lake City, to its destination of Dresden, Germany, without stopping—but it made sense that Hydra leadership wouldn’t want to draw attention to themselves as they fled their failed coup and the Winter Soldier by stopping to refuel. It was probably a plane very much like this one that had brought him to the United States in the first place.

It was less fortunate that in order to avoid having to spend fourteen hours or so awake with a gun aimed at the pilots, he had to make it look like he was an intended passenger, because interrogation of the helicopter pilot had revealed that the personnel at the airstrip didn’t know exactly who was coming, just that it was important that the plane be ready to depart.

He’d made it very clear to the helicopter pilot that his continued existence depended on him playing along and keeping his damn mouth shut afterwards or he’d find himself strung up upside down with his throat cut and bleeding out like a slaughtered pig. He was fairly sure he’d been taken seriously and that the man believed him when he said he could find him wherever he might go.

So, now he found himself seated alone in the passenger compartment of the Gulfstream 550, hoping that the helicopter pilot didn’t radio the airplane pilots with a warning, or that a message from their destination didn’t tell them that their passenger wasn’t supposed to be the Winter Soldier.

His only backup plan was killing the pilots and flying the plane himself, but since he couldn’t stand in the cockpit and watch them without alerting them that something was amiss, things would likely be well on their way to hell before he knew there was a problem.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, not being able to plan ahead other than ‘here are the ways that shit might hit the fan—be sure to duck if it starts to smell.’

Maybe he should just kill them once they were underway and autopilot was engaged….

No, it would simplify things—but then he wouldn’t know the landing protocols, which would create a new problem.

He also didn’t know if they were Hydra or a hired crew, brought in for a last minute escape, and there was something about that….

 

_A man on the ground wearing Bucky Barnes’ uniform, an American uniform, sick and helpless…a Nazi shot the man….Bucky Barnes—Bucky Barnes before Zola—throws himself forward toward the Nazi, but the man in the bowler hat grabs him by the shoulders hauls him back, whispering words that make him stop. Another Nazi hits him with the butt of his gun, anyway._

_A battlefield—Howling Commandos and allies…Russians? A prisoner kneels in front of them, his hands on his head. A Russian draws his gun and shoots the man—a collaborator. Bucky Barnes grabs the man. He’s angry. “We don’t execute prisoners!”_

 

'We don’t execute prisoners'. Bucky Barnes thought that was important.

Killing the wounded in the Hydra bases hadn’t felt wrong....but the gangsters…. Was that what had been nagging at him after he killed them all? They weren’t Hydra, so he should leave the ones who were no longer a threat alive?

But they _were_ threats. They could have identified him. Revealed that he was still alive. Their information could have started a police manhunt. Eliminating them had been a clear necessity. It was efficient.

_Another image…he’d seen this before. The crying man, but now there were words. “Please…don’t hurt my daughter. It’s me you want.”_

_The Winter Soldier looked at a woman in black who was holding a child._

_He couldn’t see the woman’s face. It was a blur. Why was it like that? No other memories had been like that. Remembering her felt important._

_He said, “Get her out of here” and he put his hand on the man’s shoulder and killed him, gutting him as the woman carried his daughter away to safety—safety from him and his mission._

_He’d probably hear about this._

The girl had been a witness. That hadn’t been efficient to let her live, but it had felt right.

Inefficient, but right. Dangerous, but right.

He’d been wrong in New York. He’d been…Hydra.

The problem was...doing the right thing was stupid, sometimes, but...it was important. He wasn't quite sure why, apart from the fact that he didn't want to be like the people who made him a traitor and he was glad that he hadn't killed that child, but he felt like it was important.  He wasn't Bucky Barnes _—_ Bucky Barnes wasn't even the man Steve Rogers thought he was _—_ but...he wanted to be a Winter Soldier who wasn't Hydra.

The Winter Soldier was Hydra’s fist. If he didn't want to be that he couldn't act like Hydra. The mission had failed because he hadn't thought ahead but, _he’d_ failed, too. He shouldn’t have killed the wounded who weren’t Hydra. It hadn’t been right. He needed to do things  _right_. Not like Hydra.

He couldn’t kill the pilots if he didn’t _know_ they were Hydra.

He just wished he couldn't imagine any number of scenarios where doing what was 'right' wouldn't get him killed.

Letting out a sigh, he tilted his head back against the headrest. How had he known not to kill the girl? How had he known that was ‘right?’ What had been different then? Who was the woman? Why hadn't he been able to remember her face?

The Winter Soldier didn’t intended to sleep, but the next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes and was groggy enough to think that he’d slept far longer than he usually let himself sleep. He was lucky nothing had happened. Lucky and stupid. He'd let his guard down.

Regroup. Assess the damage.

He rose from his seat and went to the cockpit.

The pilots looked at him and the co-pilot nodded a greeting.

He didn’t think they knew who he was. He made them nervous, but he saw no recognition in their eyes, no real comprehension of who it was that they were flying into Germany.

“How much longer until we arrive?”

The Captain said. “About another three hours. If you’re hungry, there’s a refrigerator in the galley with food in it.”, then turned back to the controls.

The Winter Soldier nodded.

“Do you work for my employers often?”

The co-pilot shook his head. “Nah, this was a rush job. They were in a hurry, call us, and got all the paperwork through for us in record time. They must have connections, huh?”

“Something like that.”

The co-pilot could have been lying, but the Winter Soldier sensed no deception. He should let them live. It was right.

Luckily, it also wasn't totally stupid.

The Winter Soldier occupied himself by going through more of the data on the Hydra computer for the next three hours. He found little new other than details of the kind of information and beliefs they’d ‘prepped’ him with after mind wipes.

He’d thought he was a soldier fighting for peace and stability. They’d spent a great deal of time making him believe that the lives he’d taken were a regrettable, but absolutely necessary sacrifice to keep some nebulous combination of enemies from ending the world with rampant, unending war.

There was a lack of logic to it that, along with the memories of the drugs and the voice, made him think that his ability to judge what they told him rationally had been impaired.

That didn’t change anything.

He should have been able to resist. He should have fought harder. He shouldn’t have been the kind of person who could be convinced to be Hydra’s fist.

Bucky Barnes was better than the Winter Soldier, but he still wasn’t a good man. He wasn’t someone that Steve Rogers should call his friend. Steve wouldn't have become Hydra's fist. Bucky Barnes had the seeds of the Winter Soldier in him, or they wouldn’t have succeeded—he might not have chosen to do the things he’d done, but he was capable of them.

He’d seen himself killing handlers—in his memories and in the computer records. In the time it took to do that, he could have killed himself and ended the threat, but he hadn’t. He’d chosen to kill rather than stop killing in the simplest way possible.

He wasn’t a good man and neither was Bucky Barnes, but Hydra? They were worse. It was good that the Winter Soldier existed to destroy them. He needed to survive long enough to do that. Hydra’s fist needed to be the last of Hydra, and then…. Then he’d do what was right.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(One year, six months later)

Steve put another pin in the map of the world on the wall of the new Avengers headquarters, near Tokyo—one more red pin on a map that had an awful lot of pins on it.

Three red pins and an orange one on the U.S, followed by four red pins and a yellow one on Germany. The yellow one was arms dealers who were beaten but not killed.

Steve had thought that meant something promising at the time. Sam had thought it was hard to take it as being all that fantastic when it had been followed by a virtual tsunami of red pins.

France, Spain, Switzerland, Belgium, the Netherlands, more as Bucky moved east, and _a lot_ more when he got to the former Soviet areas. A fair number in Africa, particularly in the north and in South Africa.

Bucky had been painting Asia with pins most recently. He’d even managed to operate in places like Iran and China, and damned if there weren’t a couple pins in North Korea.

There were none in South America or Australia and New Zealand, but Steve thought that was just because Bucky hadn’t got there yet.

Bucky was attacking bases, safe houses, landing strips, ammo dumps, as well as stores, offices and factories that _seemed_ to have no connection to Hydra at all.

Steve knew in his heart they should be red pins, but he had to make those orange.

Steve also knew that Bucky was hitting some targets in preference to others, although he didn’t know what criteria he was using to decide. It wasn’t the size of the operation. He’d wiped out a Hydra safe house in Poland that had only had two people in it.

He turned to look at Sam. “By the time we know where he is, he’s already gone. He really is a ghost. I can’t figure out how he even gets into some of these places, much less how he gets out after raising hell.”

Sam handed him a coffee. “I know you want to find him, but I don’t think you’re going to be able to until he’s done with his Grand Tour of Death.”

Steve took the coffee and looked at the map again—at the blue pins and green pins next to red ones that started in Slovakia and grew greater in number as Bucky had been south and east. “He’s leaving information and people we need to interrogate more and more often. That’s a good sign.”

“Sure, even if it’s a little awkward that he leaves your name on them.”

“Aww, c’mon, Sam. He stopped doing that by the time he hit Romania. At least we didn’t have to explain that to the Russians or the Chinese. I think he wanted to make sure we got them and not the local police, but knew that wouldn't fly further east.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow and said, “Black pins.”

Steve grimaced. “There must be a reason for that. I don’t know why he killed so many people in towns outside the Hydra facilities in Russia, or turned those facilities into craters, but there must have been a good reason. He doesn't always go that far with the destruction, or kill that many people we can't confirm as being Hydra. Those people must have done something to him. All the explosives Bucky used at those places...there must have been something there he wanted to destroy completely.”

“You’re giving a guy who’s murdering his way across the world an awful lot of credit, Steve.”

Steve shook his head. “Do I wish he’d come to us to do this differently? You bet! This isn’t just slaughter, though. He’s not crazy. He’s being very methodical, avoiding collateral damage—“

“Black pins. Scorched earth.”

“I’d bet my bottom dollar that those folks were all Hydra—and he didn’t kill their families.”

“Yeah, let’s celebrate the fact that he didn’t kill grannies and kids.”

Steve tuned to look at Sam, not making an effort to hide his irritation. “For a nice guy, you can be kind of a jerk, you know that?”

Sam sat on the edge of the desk and let out a huff of air, then looked at Steve again. “Sorry, man. I know he’s your friend and, honest to God, I hope you’re right, but I look at this— “Sam waved a hand toward the map with its rainbow of pins. “—and all I can think it that you’re getting your hopes up too high, and maybe gonna put yourself in his path, thinking you’re dealing with someone who doesn’t exist.”

“Sorry to interrupt. Jacqueline Crichton is on the phone, Steve. She wouldn’t tell me what it’s about.”

Steve turned to see Natasha leaning on the door frame, looking at the map with something that was uncomfortably like approval in her eyes.

“Thanks, Natasha.” He frowned. “She doesn’t just call to chat. Something must be up. I don’t know why she wouldn’t have told you about it, though. I’ll—”

Natasha straightened. “Don’t bother, Steve. She’s secretly an old lady and, young as she looks, she actually lived all those cold war years, unlike you. She probably has a few issues with former Russian spies. It doesn’t concern me.”

“Well…it concerns _me_.”

Giving a slight shrug, Natasha turned to leave, saying, “Whatever it is, she let the former Russian spy hear the concern in her voice. I think it’s serious.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russian Translations in the end notes

It was one thing to see on paper that the Winter Soldier hadn't always been viewed as a high value, but risky commodity to be frozen between missions. It was another to remember a different time. One when he'd had a pretext of a life where he was respected and memories that continued for days, months, maybe more without break.

There'd been a camp. A barracks with a room that was entirely his own and showers. He'd had books and a chair to sit in when he read them. He also saw that the books had been hidden in a trunk, so while his life then seemed better, though not as good as Bucky Barnes's life, it had never been free.

He'd started to remember missions—missions that felt different.

Not because he was doing anything more admirable, in retrospect, or less bloody, but because there was something different about how he felt while doing them.

By the time he'd been in Europe for a couple months, and as more memories returned, he’d realized it was because there was a presence, someone he wasn’t seeing as he remembered those missions, but who was there, nonetheless.

Then he started to see glimpses in flashes of memory—a hand touching his arm, a faceless, lithe form moving through the dark of night alongside him, or leaping down from above to garrote an enemy who’d managed to flank him.

He thought it might have been the woman in black who’d taken the child away as he’d killed her father.

He didn’t know, though, as he hadn’t seen her face when he’s remembered that, or any time after. He also saw no face in the new memories.

Then, six months ago, as he’d been cleaning his guns, he’d remembered something big. Something new.

 

_A row of very young girls in a training room, some bruised and bloody, all looking at him with both esteem and fear._

_He heard a man speaking to him. “You do them no favors by being soft.”_

_The Winter Soldier looked at a young girl with blood on her face, picking herself off the floor from where he’d thrown her, then looked at the scrawny bureaucrat who was speaking. Who was wasting his time._

_He knew his expression was intimidating and wished it to be so._

_He spoke loudly enough for the closest girls to hear, but not so loudly that the bureaucrat knew what he was doing._

_“There is time for that. Their training will be harsh, because it must be if they are to survive. They have potential, each and every one. If I was to do the same with you as I just did with her, your back would be broken. You have no potential.”_

_He was a harsh taskmaster, but he wasn’t purposefully cruel. It was good to let them know both what they could be and how this training would progress._

_The man’s face flushed with anger. The Winter Soldier knew he would be chastised, but it was worth it, Not only would the girls work harder, but he enjoyed insulting the fool._

 

_Another group, an older group. The training was far more brutal, but in being brutal, he was weeding out the ones who shouldn’t be here and should be set to other tasks. He was preparing the ones who should be here to survive._

_He didn’t pull his punches or slow his attacks, as he did for the very young. There were broken bones and cracked skulls, but no tears. They knew better than that. This was not a place where showing weakness served them well._

_They were fast, and as brutal with each other as he was with them._

_That was good. The Black Widow program was no place for the weak. Weakness meant mission failure and likely death for the failed Widow. It was his job to make sure they would succeed and survive. It was his job to be brutal, to prepare them for any fight they might face._

 

_Another group, older still. Young women._

_He trained these more often and more intensely than the others, the young._

_He remembered that without needing to see it. The potential of these had been realized. His task here wasn’t to make them able fighters or good fighters, it was to make them truly great—and they were._

_One was exceptional._

_They could land attacks when fighting him—ones that had power. They could evade blows that would break bones or kill. They could fight at the speed he set._

_He felt pride when he saw their progress. It was a warm feeling _—_ a good feeling. If they didn’t survive, it wouldn’t be because they couldn’t fight. _

_He could see all the faces but one. The one who was exceptional. A girl with red hair, her face blurred, just like the woman in black._

_She flew at him with a kick that snapped his head back, knocking him to the floor and came at him with a second kick that would have broken his neck if he was such a fool as to let it connect._

_He was grinning as he grabbed her leg with both hands, flipping her onto her back and closing his metal fingers around her throat. “Very good, Natalia.”_

 

He thought she was the woman in black whose face he also hadn’t see. They moved the same. They fought the same. The woman in black was an even better fighter than the girl with red hair _—_ and the red haired girl had been noteworthy in her excellence _—_ but they were the same. It was a familiar style. There was something about it that nagged at him, but he didn’t know what.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since then.

She was an invisible companion as he systematically dismantled Hydra in the same way she was an unseen presence in his dreams and memories.

What he knew and what he didn’t played over and over in his head like a mostly forgotten song.

Her name was Natalia.

Natalia had red hair.

Remembering Natalia made him happy. Her presence in memories warmed his heart.

Remembering Natalia made him sad in a bone deep way that he didn’t think had anything to do with helping to train her to be a killer. He couldn’t feel bad about it, because that would be the same as wishing her harmed. Even now, he knew that she’d needed everything he’d taught her to survive.

Remembering Natalia made him angry in a way that he didn’t think was about her.

He wished he could see her face. It bothered him that he couldn’t. He knew they must have wished him to forget her and worked hard to make it so.

He could feel that he’d cared for her, but…who was Natalia? Who was she besides someone he’d trained and been proud of?

It wasn’t that he’d cared for her that made it hard to remember. He knew that, because over the last year or so, he’d remembered Steve. He’d remembered what it meant to have a best friend, a brother not by blood.

He’d remembered playing kick the can, back alley fights, Christmases when Steve and his mother came over and the way she’d looked more worn and pale every year. He’d remembered seeing the worry that Steve tried to hide. He’d remembered standing on the stairs after Steve’s mother’s funeral and trying to convince him that he didn’t have to go it alone.

He’d remembered enough to know what Steve must think about the things he’d done and for whom.

He’d remembered, but he couldn’t remember Natalia’s face. He knew that they’d taken the memory of her from him, but he didn’t know why.

Did she survive? Was she still alive? He didn’t even know when it was that he’d trained her or if…. Had it been enough? Had he let her down?

The Winter Soldier shook his head. Enough. The mission…. It was time to go.

He loaded his duffle bag with explosives, grenades, the round grenades that he’d been hoarding, a grenade launcher, and ammo for everything. Then picked up his modified M4A1 Carbine.

He hadn’t thought to attack this base near Leningrad—no, St. Petersburg. Not this soon. It was very large, very well guarded. It was possible that he’d die. He’d planned to leave it for last before taking the risk, but he needed information that would be there now, not later.

The intel he’d gathered in Tokyo had been clear. Hydra leadership—what was left of it—was gathering, but he didn’t know where or when.

He’d be able to kill them all at once if he could find out. He needed to know what they planned.

This was one of the largest facilities—an information hub, a locus of leadership, a stronghold of the former Department X. If that information was on a system anywhere, it would be here.

стоит умереть.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Steve was in the map room wishing that he had some idea of where Bucky would be on his way to next when Natasha’s voice came over the intercom.

“I’m picking up live surveillance from a Hydra base in Russia, Steve. It looks like someone opened their security network to the internet, which let me hack into their system when it set off my alarms. They’re under attack. It’s the Winter Soldier.”

Steve got there so fast, he damaged a couple of walls.

Natasha glanced at him as he came into the discreetly named ‘communications room’, which was really 'spy central', built to make Natasha happy and to try to lure Clint back into the fold.

“I think this was someone trying to call for help when other access to the outside was cut off by the Winter Soldier. This is bad, Steve. I have no idea what he thought he was doing, going into this place alone. The only saving grace is that communications and surveillance seem to be disabled within the base. We can see this, they can’t.”

The wall of screens showed everything that guards observing base security monitors would have seen, normally. There were rooms filled with bodies, smoke curling into the air, sparks cascading from broken equipment, empty halls with scattered corpses every few feet. Other screens showed a terrifying number of heavily armed Hydra assets at barricades, shouting officers and troops running through halls, some converging on—

“Oh, God….”

Some converging on Bucky.

Not that he looked like Bucky. He looked 100% Winter Soldier, but Steve refused to think of him like that.

He wasn’t using his guns. Why wasn’t he using his guns?

He was surrounded and there was so much movement, so many enemies, Steve could hardly see him. He had a knife in each hand and Hydra was living up to its reputation, for every head he cut off, another took its place….

Bucky was fighting with ferocity that was astonishing in its efficiency and brutality. Knives, feet, elbows…all capable of crippling or killing. No movement was wasted.

The air was filled with blood spraying from mortal wounds and Bucky was surely having trouble maneuvering, there were so many dead and dying on the ground. It was remarkable, awe-inspiring, and damn well disturbing as hell.

Natasha let out a breath and whispered, “впечатляющий….”

The only advantage Bucky had was that in the midst of them as he was, they didn’t dare use ranged weapons, either, and they weren’t even close to being as good as he was with the knives and batons they held.

It was still gut-wrenching to watch, one man against so many.

Steve swallowed hard and his voice was rough when he asked, “Why is he in the middle of them like that, Natasha? Why is he fighting so close when there are so many of them?”

Natasha tapped the screen where there was wall of computer equipment visible. “I think that’s why he’s there. It’s a room very like this one. I think he’s after information and he doesn’t wants to risk damaging it, so he forced them into a close quarters fight.”

“Is there anything we can do to help him? Can we talk to him?”

She shook her head. “No sound, no access outside the security network. I’m trying to get into other systems, but it won’t be in time to do anything that might help—and there’s really nothing I can think to do that wouldn’t hinder him as much as those he’s fighting.”

The fight continued at the same insane pace. The Hydra soldiers couldn’t keep up, they fell to Bucky’s attacks, one after another. He could see Bucky clearly now, and no matter how fast he was fighting, no matter how good he was, he’d been hit and not just once or twice.

Bucky was bleeding from a cut on his forehead and it was running into his eyes. Between that and his hair, Steve wondered how well he could see.

Steve thought he was moving slower, too, and what was that dark patch on his right side? Was he bleeding? God, this was hard to watch. Bucky… you stupid jerk, _why_? What was worth this?

The only thing that showed in his expression was savage determination—not a kind of determination that looked like Bucky at all.

Steve’s lips tightened and he closed his eyes. His grip in the back of Natasha’s chair was white knuckled and he felt the metal bend.

He might watch Bucky die in that godawful place, still the Winter Soldier, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

Opening his eyes, he looked back to the screen. His eyes widened and the back of Natasha’s chair snapped off. “No!”

A Hydra soldier drove his knife into Bucky’s chest near his right shoulder. As he pulled it out, Bucky grabbed his hand and twisted, breaking his wrist, then put his own knife through the man’s eye.

Steve took a deep breath and another, trying to shed his rising panic. Bucky could survive that wound in his chest, He could. That blood on his mouth was from being hit, not because of the stab wound, not because it hit his lungs. There were only a few men left. He was going to win this. He was going to win this. _He was going to win this_. Damn it, Bucky....

“Knife fights are horrible.”

Nodding, Natasha said, “Yes. Not everyone can stomach fighting with knives. Although…they don’t usually look quite like this.”

“But Bucky likes knives. He…chooses them.”

“Yes. He seems to.”

Jesus, Buck….

Bucky let go of the knife, leaving it in the man’s skull, and pulled out a handgun, while slicing through the forearm of another attacker.

Natasha said, “The blade got stuck in bone. It was too wide for that use.”

He shot one man through the chest. It passed through that one and hit the one behind. They both fell.

He slashed a throat, kicked another in the balls, and then stabbed him in the base of the skull when he bent over. Sheathing his weapons, he grabbed one of the two who remained with both hands, breaking his neck. He picked up the last one by the throat with his metal arm. Steve thought he was saying something, although it was hard to tell with the mask. He dropped the man, kicked him in the face, and then shot him.

They were all down, each and every one. Thank God.

Bucky was methodically shooting the wounded. That was less great.

Steve’s brow furrowed and he felt a pang of sorrow for the boy Bucky used to be. He let his head drop to his chest and willed his stomach to unknot.

Bucky was alive. He’d just survived a fight against impossible odds, at close quarters and with no allies or cover. That was the only thing that was important right now.

Damn it, Bucky. Why won’t you let me help…? Do you even remember that I would?

When he looked up again, Bucky was leaning against a wall, one hand pressed to the metal surface, the other to his side, taking rapid shallow breaths, hunched over. When he pushed himself upright, the hand on the wall left a large  smear of blood behind and Steve couldn’t tell if it was his or someone else’s.

Bucky walked to a terminal and started typing, then attached a small device to the computer. He was leaning on the terminal with both hands as he waited for whatever information he was after to upload. Steve thought it might be holding him up.

“Natasha…he still has to get out of there. He needs a doctor. How will he find a doctor? We have to get to him.”

Natasha shook her head. “By the time we could get there, he’ll be long gone, Steve. The best thing we can do for him is to find out where he’s going. I’m into the system now and copying everything I can. I just need a few more minutes.”

Bucky removed his devices and attached several of something else to the computer system. When he touched them lights started blinking. He turned, picked up weapons he’d dropped, including what looked like a grenade launcher, and walked from the room in a way that was far less certain than his usual way of walking.

There was a brilliant flash of light, then all the screens went blank.

Natasha said something in Russian under her breath that Steve couldn't hear. It was a rare show if frustration.

“I got some of it. Maybe we’ll be lucky.”

Steve wanted to say something encouraging, the kind of thing that Captain America was supposed to say, but all he could manage was “Thanks, Natasha. I’ll…be in the gym.”

He had a much better idea of what had happened in all those Hydra bases, ‘businesses’  and safe houses that Bucky had been wiping out. He was going to try not to think about that too much.

As he left the room, feeling far older than his biological age, he could feel her gaze and the words in her silence, but he didn’t want to talk right now. He just wanted to hit something.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Winter Soldier swiped a hand across his forehead to keep the blood from trickling into his eyes. It was the worst of many smaller cuts all over and the only one that was functionally limiting. The wounds in his side, shoulder and left leg were more of a concern, though.

While the one in his shoulder missed his lung, it was bleeding heavily and he had no idea how bad the one in his side was. The one in his leg was shallow, but he was losing a lot of blood from a lot of places. It didn't tickle.

Leaning against a wall, he fumbled in a pouch for an auto-injector then jammed it into his thigh. He breathed a sigh of relief as the combination painkiller and stimulant dulled aches and pushed injury and fatigue into the background.

He was beat up as hell and so was his gear. It had too many holes in it to be optimally effective. It was beyond salvage.

Good thing he’d found caches of gear intended for his use in a couple of places, including clothing, although he did wonder what the hell he’d been doing in Iran that warranted the stockpile he’d found there.

Still, this had gone better than he thought it might. He was alive. 

He’d cleared the path from here to the entrance on his way in, so unless they’d anticipated that he wasn’t going to proceed further inside to take out the leadership, he probably had relatively few troops to deal with and he didn’t think they would. His operating procedure prior to this, on every base, had been to kill everyone and not to leave until he’d one that.

It annoyed him that he couldn’t do that here, but there were simply too many of them. It was more important that he get out with the intel he’d collected.

Footsteps. Behind and to the left. Running….

The Winter Soldier waited until the Hydra soldiers were in the hall and raising their weapons before firing.

Ducking into a doorway, he waited to see if any had survived and would follow.

None followed. He heard screaming, though.

Damn it. Someone lived.

He wanted to go back and finish them off, but he staggered as he pushed himself off the wall, and he was getting lightheaded. He couldn’t risk taking the time. He was going to have to get out and take cover before he passed out from blood loss. There wasn’t a stimulant in the world that could prevent that.

As he looked around the last corner into the entrance lobby, he saw that they’d set up a barricade at the door, manned with heavy machine guns. There were enough fighters that someone must have decided that it was as likely that he’d retreat as go forward. Disappointing.

Taking out one of his round grenades, he rolled it around the corner toward the interior end of the barricade. One second. Two seconds, Three…

He jumped out from cover and fired the carbine as chunks of barricade and body parts blew into the air, ducking back around the corner again when the survivors started firing again.

The Winter Soldier pulled the grenade launcher off his back. It was possible that multiple explosions so close to such a large opening at the door might have adverse results, but he didn’t have a choice. They were too well shielded. Picking them off a few at a time would end with him keeling over at their feet.

He waited until there was a lull in the gunfire, leaned around the corner and fired, then pulled back to reload. As the first grenade exploded, he leaned out and fired again, chunks of debris crashing into the walls around him.

Sloppy. глупый. безрассудный.

A nagging voice in his mind told him that he wasn’t as effective as he’d been before, that all the crap in his head, the loose bits of information that his brain couldn’t stop analyzing made him inefficient—that he’d have planned this better if there was nothing on his mind but the mission.

He’d always had stray thoughts, but not like this. They hadn’t seemed important. Now there was a constant barrage of wants, needs and memories that took far too much of his focus. He’d thought that might stop once more of his memory had returned, but it had gotten worse, not better.

Steve, the woman in black, his injuries, irritating questions about what he was going to do if he survived past the next phase of the mission…. Hell, even what he wanted for dinner.

Drifting thoughts detracted from his tasks.

He was starting to think this was just how other people were. How Bucky Barnes must have been. Random and undisciplined.

Or maybe they'd fucked his brain up to the point that he couldn't control things like other people. Good thing he was killing them.

Goddamnit. Focus. This was not the time. Идиот.

Slinging the grenade launcher over one shoulder, he reloaded the carbine and walked toward the rubble of the barricade, firing. The three who had been upright fell. The timing was probably coincidental, but so did a large slap of metal plate from the ceiling by the door, followed by a significant amount of rock.

Yes, it crushed any survivors, but it also blocked the exit and the structure of the lobby was clearly compromised. The rest of it could come down any time. The door controls had also been damaged beyond use.

The Winter Soldier swayed on his feet, his vision blurring. He blinked and shook his head, then took out another auto-injector.

He wasn’t supposed to use these so close together, but he had to stay conscious long enough to get out and to safety.

Options—

One—he could head back in and look for another exit, possibly encountering more resistance or losing enough blood to pass out before he found another way out.

Two—he could try to blow the debris out of the entrance, opening a way out, and hope he could get through it before the structure lost all integrity.

Two. It had to be two. 

The Winter Soldier placed explosives in locations calculated to blow the debris out the entrance and take down the reinforced metal door, and withdrew into the hall, dropping the M1A4 carbine and the grenade launcher. He'd have to leave them.

If this worked, he’d have very little time to get out before everything above him came down on his head. If it didn’t work, he’d have sealed himself inside a Hydra base with an army hunting him down, or killed himself. That would be unfortunate, but there was no way around this. He could always shoot himself if capture was imminent.

Taking a deep breath, the Winter Soldier pushed the button, then ran toward the entrance, into the cloud of dust, while rocks and chunks of metal still flew through the air. He ignored those that hit him, feeling lucky they weren’t bigger.

He could see light through the debris and dove for it, landing in a roll that took him outside and into the light of sunrise, as the entrance of the base collapsed behind him.

Rising to his feet, he pulled the Skorpian off his back and fired, killing the guards who stood between him and a truck. Then he searched their blood-soaked pockets for the truck keys, letting out a relieved huff of air when he found them.

He remembered somewhere he could go.

Hopefully, it was still there, because he was pretty sure that last time he’d been there was in the fifties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winter Soldier--стоит умереть (worth dying for)  
> Natasha-- впечатляющий (impressive)  
> Winter Soldier-- глупый, безрассудный (foolish, risky)  
> Winter soldier--Идиот (idiot)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triangular brackets indicate local language. In this case, Russian.  
> The dialogue in memories was written by Ed Brubaker and is entirely his property. If you haven't read the comics, I recommend them highly.  
> спячка: sleep

The bomb shelter wasn’t what the Winter Soldier was expecting. He’d thought it would be behind razor wire, unused, but preserved in case of later need. It had been state of the art when he’d last seen it, with all the amenities needed tor a potentially long stay underground.

What he hadn’t expected was quite this much urine, the sagging and broken doors, the invasion of the elements into the interior, or the massive amount of garbage.

None of that made a difference. The drugs were wearing off and if he didn’t stop moving and let his body heal, he was going to lose more blood than even he could afford to lose.

Even he…Zola’s experiment, a product of Nazi science, and far closer to the Red Skull than to Captain America.

He was also fairly sure that there had been something on one or more of the knives that had hit, some poison, because he felt far less able to function than he should have been with his current level of damage. He hadn’t been able to identify the problem while the stimulant was active, but now that it was wearing off….

The Winter Soldier staggered through the broken entrance door and moved up the debris filled hall, noting the mold and the peeling geen paint.

You’d think they would have taken better care of this. People had very short memories….

Chuckling to himself, amused despite having to use the wall to prop himself up as he stumbled forward, the Winter Soldier considered the irony of him even thinking that.

When he came to a staircase, he went down, clutching the rail and moving carefully. Falling down the staircase wouldn’t improve matters.

His night vision was better than ‘normal’, no one could see in this total absence of light.

Opening a pouch at his waist, he took out a small, flat light. It was about the size of an older phone and when he pressed the switch on its side, it lit up a fifteen foot area.

It was drier on the lower level and less garbage was here. Perhaps most intruders feared venturing below—feared being trapped with an unknown enemy, or simply feared the dark.

Normally, he’d do a room to room search, but the odds of someone being down in the dark silence, in this disgusting bunker in the middle of nowhere, were small—and he needed to sit before he fell.

He passed two rooms with missing doors and shone the light into those. No one there and nothing of use. The cupboards were open and bare. The bomb shelter had been thoroughly looted in the fifty-eight or so years since he’d last been here.

The next room still had a functional door, so the Winter Soldier pulled a Sig from its holster and flung the door open, shining the light into the room.

There was no one there. Good.

He went inside, holstering his gun, shut the door behind him and looked around. Some detritus from looted medical supplies…. Too bad those weren’t still here. Maybe there was something left? Bandages were readily available. There’d be less desire to loot them than any expiring food stocks left behind when the shelter was abandoned.

The Winter Soldier searched the cupboard, his metal arm braced on the counter to keep him upright.

Nothing…Damn it. Of course not. That would be convenient and useful.

He should search the rest of the facility. Maybe…there’d be something…he could use… another room…. Maybe….

His vision blurred and narrowed. He staggered backward until he hit a wall.

He pulled off his mask.

Need to go…search…need…to stand and…

He made an attempt to push off the wall, but found himself sliding down it instead.

Okay…спячка….

 

 

_He was in the shower, hot steam clouding the cool air in the barracks. There was a shift in the air behind him, a form blocking the draft that was ever-present in the room. He smiled. There was only one person who would be so bold as to attempt to sneak up behind him—and only one who was good enough to get this close._

_He reached behind to grab a slim wrist and pull her to him._

_Natalia let out a startled sound. She’d thought him unaware._

_“ <Trying to sneak to on me? You’re not that good yet, Natalia.>”_

_She was unfazed. “Speak to me in English. I need the practice.”_

_She was also wearing only a towel and had chosen to attempt this while he was in the shower, unclothed._

_Natalia was neither stupid, nor unaware._

_He wasn’t, either._

_His smile widened. “Well, then…let’s practice.”_

_Natalia had become just what he expected—the Black Widow by whom others were judged. It has also been arranged that she marry a cosmonaut for whom Department X had plans._

_The Winter Soldier pulled himself up onto the roof and climbed through her window, smiling at her._

_Natalia looked worried. “ <You shouldn’t be here. They’ll kill you if they find out.>”_

_His smile widened into a grin. “ <I don’t care.>”_

_She stood, lifting a hand to touch his face, kiss his cheek. “ <They’ve promised me to someone else.>”_

_“ <I know. He’s an ass.>” Putting his arms around her, he pulled her close and kissed her as if this might be the last time he touched her, because it might. If they were to be separated, this night should be one they could remember as fondly as they’d remember each other._

_A hotel room…. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, wishing he could stay with Natalia, but he had a mission to complete._

_“And where do you think you’re going?” Natalia rolled over to face him, smiling._

_“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” He pulled on his pants as he watched her stretch in a way that had nothing to do with actually stretching._

_Damn, he liked it when she practiced her wiles on him, especially since they both knew full well that he wasn’t taken in by them. She did it to please him and he hoped he pleased her just as much._

_“Take me with you.”_

_He pulled on his jacket and started doing it up. “You know I can’t do that. If anyone found out about us, we’d be sent to Siberia, or worse.”_

_The Winter Soldier touched her cheek. “Remember to go out the back window…in the shadows. There are eyes everywhere.” He leaned forward to kiss her. “See you soon.”_

_The Winter Soldier wasn’t worried about himself, he was worried for Natalia. She was the best of the Black Widows, but there were still others._

_They had no other Winter Soldier. If he displeased him, the might make his life unpleasant for a while, but they needed him. What could they really do?_

_He was sparring with Natalia when they came for him. He knew immediately that they meant him harm—the set expressions on the faces of the soldiers didn’t hide their fear. He killed three before they could even raise their weapons._

_The weapons were something new. Electro-magnetic. His arm stopped working. It felt like his body was burning and through his screaming, he could hear Natalia._

_“ <Leave him alone! It’s not his fault!>”_

_But it was. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but he couldn’t. The last thing he heard was the controller saying, “ <I think from now on, you’ll let me worry about my soldiers, Little Natalia.>”_

 

 

The Winter Soldier opened his eyes and stared ahead, eyes wide.

He saw her face. He saw Natalia.

He knew what it was about her fighting style that had escaped him. He’s seen it recently. The red haired Black Widow with Steve was Natalia.

She’d been a threat to the mission—of course, because she was _Natalia_ —and he’d shot her. He would have killed her if Steve hadn’t interrupted him.

He shot Natalia.

He’d tried to _kill_ Natalia.

He hadn’t just cared about her, he’d—

 _No_. He hadn’t loved her. He couldn’t say he’d loved her. If he had, he wouldn’t have put her at risk. She’d made him happy, he’d wanted her, so he’d ignored the danger. Even when he’d started thinking enough to worry, he hadn’t stopped it. What a fucking idiot he’d been.

He knew he was a killer, he hadn’t known that he was a goddamn selfish bastard, too.

The Winter Soldier frowned. Had she known him when he shot her? He didn’t think so. He hadn’t seen recognition in her face.

They must have screwed up her memories, too, and that was another thing that was his fault.

At least she got to forget some of her time in the Red Room and with Department X. She’d have forgotten about thinking it was her fault and the pain he must have caused her.

Whatever they’d done to her, she’d become a person who Steve would want at his side.  That meant they hadn’t changed her too much, she was still Natalia, not someone like him.

She’d forgotten him and everything that went along with remembering him. Keeping it that way would be the only good thing he ever brought her.

The Winter Soldier bowed his head and covered his eyes, letting out a deep breath.

He let out a mirthless chuckle. What the hell would he say anyway? ‘Hi, I know I shot you and almost beat Steve to death, but we were lovers. You just don’t remember. Let me tell you about all the fucking terrible shit you forgot, so you can relive it again.’

Not damn likely. She’d kill him and he’d have to let her.

He was being an ass. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere near Steve or Natalia, anyway.

But…what the hell was Natalia doing working with Steve?

She must have escaped Russia and Department X. Had she been working with SHIELD? She wasn’t Hydra, or she wouldn’t have been trying to kill him. Steve may not have wanted him dead, but Natalia definitely had. A bullet to the eye didn’t leave a lot of room for doubt and the fight on the highway was something he’d remembered some time ago.

She was one of the good guys now, and not held back by Steve’s brand of lunacy. Of course she’s tried to kill him—almost did, too.

It didn’t matter how much he might like to see her. He was nothing to her now, and that was just how it should be. It was right to stay away from her.

Maybe he should see if he was bleeding to death instead of even fucking _considering_ seeing Natalia.

The Winter Soldier undid his jacket and checked his wounds.

There was a little swelling around the chest wound, but not enough to worry about, although moving his arm was painful.

He was damn lucky the knife hadn’t severed an artery. Could he heal from that? No way to know without it happening, so he was going to have to hope he didn’t find out.

The wound in his side didn’t look great, but he thought any internal bleeding had stopped, or it would look worse. Just being the fucking Nazi science project he was seemed to be dealing with it and he didn’t think there was still poison in his system. It must have been something that was intended to disable him, rather than kill.

They must still want to take him alive.

His stomach knotted and he took a couple of deep breaths to stave off a strange combination of rage and nausea.

That was never going to happen. He’d put a bullet in his brain first.

He pulled open the tear in his pants and looked at the cut on his thigh. That needed to be closed and he should have done it before he passed out. The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped and his pant leg was soaked with his blood.

Searching for medical supplies hear would be a waste of time he couldn’t afford and showed just how much the poison had been affecting him. It had been ridiculously optimistic to try before and nothing he found was likely to be sterile, anyway. People had probably been running free in here for at least twenty years or so.

He really needed to start carrying more medical gear with him. He didn’t have people waiting around to help him with this crap anymore.

The Winter Soldier took out a small tube of medical glue he was carrying and did his best to seal the leg wound. The cut was both too deep and too long for it to hold effectively, but it would limit blood loss and might hold until he could stitch the wound up properly.

After doing up his jacket again, the Winter Soldier pulled himself to his feet and put his mask back on.

He was steadier than he was a few hours ago, but he wasn’t even close to fully operational.

There were two men outside the bunker when he exited the building. One was pissing against the wall, the other was sitting on the ground, leaning against it.

They stared at him, mouths hanging open and the Winter Soldier remembered that not only was his clothing stiff with blood—his own and that of many others—but his face was probably still covered in it, too. And he was wearing a mask.

They didn’t question his presence, either because of the blood or the number of weapons hanging off him.

As he walked by, he gave them a nod, hearing one whisper to the other, “<How is that fucker still walking—and what do the other guys look like? Jesus Christ. Told you we shouldn’t go inside.>”

The Winter Soldier smiled.

The other guys looked like Hydra corpses.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Winter Soldier lay flat on the ground under a cover of shrubs, looking at the farmyard where he’d hidden his vehicle and supplies, waiting.

He’d abandoned the stolen Hydra truck near the bomb shelter, hoping that Hydra search teams would discover it and waste time searching there.

It had taken him three hours to walk back

He hadn’t been moving quickly. That wasn’t an option. He didn’t want to open wounds that were just starting to close. Hell, he could feel a trickle of blood down his side just from lying down.

Seven hours ago, he’d collapsed the main entrance to the base, but there would have been at least one more exit, a way out in case of frontal assault.

Pursuers might have reached this site before him. They might have set a trap.

He hadn’t known he’d be delayed by seven hours, but he’d planned ahead in case he was, leaving a cache of weapons in a tree nearby.

He was watching through the scope of a CheyTac Intervention sniper rifle—bolt action, fed by a 7-round detachable single-stack magazine, .408 cartridges, accurate to 2,300 meters.

Dusk was starting to fall. Once it was dark, assuming he didn’t see anything before then, he’d move in.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He didn’t have to wait until dark—and it turned out he could have left earlier, although that might have meant running into them in a situation where he didn’t have a tactical advantage.

The Hydra search team arrived as the sun was approaching the horizon. He’d known they’d be fanning out through the surrounding area. It was standard procedure after an attack like his---a logical course of action. Predictable.

The Winter Soldier watched them moving silently and communicating with hand signals. He watched them search the ruins of the farmhouse, then move to the equally unsound barn where his stolen SUV was parked.

Seven of the team went inside, while one stayed at the door.

The Winter Soldier aimed the CheyTac at the guard.

 

_He looked through the scope of his rifle. The red haired woman had moved in front of the target to guard him with her body. Pointless._

_The Winter Soldier aimed, but felt an odd reluctance to pull the trigger. Why? Who was that woman?_

_It didn’t matter. She was in his way._

_He knew that, but he still waited until she turned to scan for his position, moving herself slightly to the left._

_He fired, shooting her through the side instead of the back and killing his target._

_That was strange. Why had he cared?_

 

The Winter Soldier closed his eyes tightly. He’d shot Natalia more than once.

Not now. Focus, goddamnit.

Opening his eyes, he aimed again and fired. The guard dropped.

One.

 _Stop thinking_. Think later. Fight.

There was no cover for 20 feet around the barn. They’d have heard the shot and lost communication with the guard.

If the search team was stupid, they’d all come out through the front and run for cover. If they were smarter, they’d stay inside. If they were smarter than he wanted them to be, they’d remove boards from the back of the barn more silently than he’d be able to hear from this location, draw him toward the barn and attempt to flank him.

The Winter Soldier saw a flicker of movement to the right of the barn and looked through the scope.

The top of the flanker’s head was visible behind the engine block of an old tractor.

Not so sneaky, asshole. He’d been good enough to get to the tractor, but less good at staying unseen.

The target was well within range, but shooting through the engine block would be sketchy, even with how overpowered the rifle and ammunition were for the range. That left him with a very small target and a strong breeze had come up that he had to account for.

Making quick estimates and calculations, the Winter Soldier aimed and fired.

Two down.

He raised his gaze from the scope and looked at the other side of the barn.

If they’d sent one out, they’d probably sent two—possibly more. It was a surprising three minutes before he spotted them.

These guys were good. The Winter Soldier chuckled under his breath. It was almost a shame to kill them.

He fired again.

Three.

The remaining man panicked and ran for a grain bin near the edge of the yard.

The Winter Soldier had no trouble hitting moving targets, but the significant gusting breeze was an issue and he missed with his first shot. The second hit the man square in the chest and took him down.

Four.

He looked around again and saw no one left outside the building. Four remained inside.

Laying down the CheyTac, the Winter Soldier picked up, picked up 2 M4A1 carbines, slung one over his shoulder and walked toward the building.

As he walked forward, he fired, the bullets splintering the rotten wood of the barn.

He didn’t think they were inexperienced enough to confuse concealment with cover, and had likely expected this, but it would remove their ability to fire on him as he approached.

His mind went over the cover positions in the barn. His truck and two empty stalls. The stalls were to the left of the door.

When he was fifteen feet from the entrance, he ran out of ammo, dropped the first carbine and pulled the other off his back, firing once more before kicking the door in before rolling inside and to his right as shots were fired from behind the vehicle.

The Winter Soldier returned fire. By the sound of it, he’d hit one when his rounds passed through the body of the vehicle and out the other side. Swinging toward the stalls, he fired a burst into the wood. He heard a cry of pain and cartwheeled toward the sound, evading another round of fire from behind the SUV.

After shooting the wounded man in the floor of the stall, he ran for the vehicle, jumped to the roof and fired down on the man behind it. The guy wasn’t in any shape to fire back.

Five and six.

He dropped the empty carbine, grabbed the Skorpian off his back, and fired into the open doorway, just as the last two appeared, having tried to sneak out while he was occupied, go around the building and take him from behind.

Yeah. Saw that coming.

Seven. Eight.

He’d managed to avoid hitting the engine or the gas tank of his vehicle, although there were a fair number of bullet holes in the body and broken windows.

The vehicle would get him out of here, but he was going to need a new one.

The Winter Soldier grimaced, feeling the full body pain that adrenalin had dulled. He touched his side, letting out a hiss, and looked at the fresh blood that covered his palm. He could feel the warmth of blood trickling down his chest and more than a trickle running down his leg.  

That fight had been a lot more active than had been ideal and he felt like shit.

Time to take a week or so off to heal and go through the data he’d recovered—but not in Russia.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help but notice that I've lost both commenters and readers. If you're one of them, don't be afraid to comment on why. I welcome critique as much as praise. If I agree, It may make a difference in my approach.
> 
> Some of the dialogue lines are taken from the comic or adapted from the comic. The plot in London is loosely based on the comic, but has been changed to fit with the MCU and to remove a comics side plot. Nonetheless, credit for the events that occur goes to Ed Brubaker, not to be and any flaws are mine alone.
> 
> Anyone who hasn't read the comics really should. They're amazing. If you like the character, Ed Brubaker is the guy responsible. Bucky was permanently dead until he ressurected him.

 

 

 

Natasha opened the window for Liho, holding her phone to her ear with her other hand. “Have you made a decision?”

She could hear the sound childish laughter and shrieks in the background. Natasha suspected she’d interrupted some kind of game.

Clint sounded out of breath when he said, “Hold on a sec. I’ll go to the other room.”

It was noticeable quieter when she heard Clint’s voice again.

“Yeah…I decided. I’m going to keep working for Fury. Those jobs don’t tend to involve killer robots or alien invasions, and I won’t need to spend as much time in the city.”

“You’re okay with having to leave the country on occasion? Fury will demand it.”

“We like eating things we don’t grow and wearing clothes, so…yeah. “

“Good. I could use some help with something, and you won’t even have to leave the house.”

“That’s my kind of job. What’s up?”

“I’m sending you some video from a Hydra base outside Leningrad and data from the base’s computer. I’ll wait while you watch the video.”

Clint gave a low whistle as he watched the Winter Soldier battle the onslaught of Hydra soldiers and said, “ _Jesus_. That’s Steve’s pal? The Winter Soldier?”

“Yes, although I’m not sure how much of Steve’s friend is left. He’s been doing what you just watched across Europe and Asia, in an astonishing number of locations.” She smiled thinly. “Not that I fault him for it.”

“Bucky-boy either has brass balls the size of a Mac truck, or he doesn’t give a crap if he dies. Probably both.”

Natasha found herself nodding even though he couldn’t see her. “I think that may have been a new level of recklessness. He wanted something on that computer system very badly. I can’t say for sure, of course, but I don’t think he would have lasted this long if that was standard operating procedure. The data I sent may or may not be part of what he was after.”

“Hold on. I need a beer.”

Natasha took the opportunity to put some food Liho’s dish and pour herself a glass of wine, before taking a seat in her chair by the window.

“Back. Laura says ‘hi.’ She wants you to come down for the weekend. I do, too and the kids would love to see you.”

“Maybe, but I think something might be about to come up. Tell Laura I hope you’re not driving her crazy.”

“Oh, I am, but it’s a good crazy.”

Smiling, Natasha said, “So you say.”

She heard him take a swallow of his beer, then he said, “So what’s on the files?”

“I was able to get into that computer before the Winter Soldier blew it up. I began with recent communications and financial data, and was just starting on other things when access was cut off. I’d like to know what he was so interested in”

“Ok, I’ll have a look. Why don’t you drop that other shoe? You’d be doing this yourself if there wasn’t footwear behind your back.”

“I know you left the Avengers to spend more time with Laura and the children, Clint. I’m trying to be respectful of that.”

There was more to it than time. He’d left the Avengers because the risk of leaving his children fatherless if he continued had become increasingly obvious, but that was an elephant in the room that they didn’t speak of openly, given her continued participation.

“Just show me the damn shoe.”

“All right. Jacqueline Crichton—Spitfire--believes that Hydra is planning something big in Europe, but we haven’t been able to find out what. A lead may be in these files. I’m going to follow the money.”

“You think that’s that the Winter Soldier was after?”

“Maybe. If Hydra was planning something, he’d likely see stopping it as fitting in with his vendetta.”

“How’s Steve doing with this? He see that video?”

“Live and in real time. He broke the back off my chair when Barnes got stabbed in the chest.”

“Think he knows how this might end?”

“I don’t think a poor outcome is something he’d willing to contemplate.”

There was a silence before Clint said, “I’ll have a look at these right now, and call you with what I find.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Kronos Gala…the grand unveiling of their new building. It was the perfect cover for a gathering of the obscenely rich and powerful who made up the elite of Hydra. He knew that was what he was looking at the minute he saw the transfer of a massive amount of additional security to London, and just who was going to be there.

He also knew that Kronos was Hydra and Hydra was Kronos.

All the Winter Soldier’s previous estimate of the security that would be in place at a meeting such as this increased exponentially. It wouldn’t just be security for the meeting, it would be security that would still hold up when the building was full of guests.

He put his odds of survival into negative numbers and was surprised to feel a twinge of…something.

The Winter Soldier didn’t examine that feeling. His mind veered away from it like a small car avoiding a head on collision with a truck. His brain was a mine field of things that could distract him from the mission and make him less efficient. He was very careful where he stepped.

Over the almost year and a half that he’d been piecing together who he used to be and what had been done to him, he’d become good at that. He’d had to.

To go from having nothing in his mind but his mission and stray thoughts that had no context, to having to find a way to focus while a lifetime of memories jostled around in his head, demanding that he analyze them—not later but immediately—had made that imperative.

Sometimes it was a struggle, but if he hadn’t learned to do it, the noise in his head would have gotten him killed months ago. In fact, it almost had, in early days, and it still created risk.

Small children come into their thoughts slowly, with simple things. ‘The thing rolls. Oh, the thing is a ball. The ball is red. The sky is not red. It is not a ball. It is blue.’

Their first memories aren’t of death, loss, pain and guilt. There’s no ‘here is a memory of a time you were unhappy/angry/a goddamn murderer and here are other similar, but different times you felt like that or did those things. Here are the things you did to others that were as bad or worse. Compare them and feel them just like they never happened before.’

The thoughts never stopped circling, like a whirlwind in his mind. There was no quiet, no peace and new questions and ideas joined the old ones all the time.  

This was different that the kind of busy than his mind had been before. Then there was constant focus on all the aspects of a mission, analyzing, anticipating, and planning, punctuated by images of people and places that had no meaning or importance, and required only that he ignore them.

This kind of busy demanded that he judge his worth and the worth of his actions—in the past, today and for the future, if there was one. It demanded that he know who Bucky Barnes was and what he’d been capable of and compare that to the Winter Soldier. It demanded that he do something about who he was now and what he’d done.

Killing Hydra’s leadership didn’t feel like enough. It felt like there was no such thing as ‘enough.’ He thought that even in this, he was failing.

He could feel himself losing control, random things that he absolutely didn’t want to think about pushing in, making it hard to concentrate, filling his mind with noise and sorrow.

The Winter Soldier drew back his metal arm and let out a yell, slamming his fist into the wall of the abandoned subway tunnel, again and again, as brick shattered and mortar crumbled.

Bucky Barnes had kept his shit together after Zola made him check to see if he still had a face every morning for months, without letting anyone know. If goddamn fucking Bucky Barnes could do that, so could he. Get it together!

Punching the ruined wall one more time, he straightened and glared into the darkness of the tunnel.

One more fucking mission. Stay on task.

The Winter Soldier started packing gear into two duffel bags. He needed to move to the hotel room he’d booked near the Kronos building and prepare.

Tomorrow night, he was going to cut off all the heads of Hydra at once. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough, but it was something and it was significant. Maybe he could shape the next century tonight, and in a better way than he’d shaped the last.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The hotel was two blocks away from the new Kronos building, an old holdout in an area of newer buildings. It was also the nicest place he’d stayed since he was Bucky Barnes. It had a really good shower. The bed was probably nice, too, but he didn’t want to sleep. The dreams had been bad since Leningrad, like his subconscious wanted to show him the worst of who he was before he died.

He’d wait until he was too tired to dream then get a few hours of sleep during the day.

He was disassembling and cleaning his guns when breaking news took over the television.

“…massive explosion tore through a ship in Tilbury Dock late last night, with fire spreading to warehouse buildings dockside. No word yet from officials whether this was an accident or an act of terrorism. However, moments ago BBC was given security camera footage of an altercation onboard the freighter just prior to the explosion.”

The Winter Soldier stared at the screen, his brow furrowing.

 “Two figures are clear in the footage, Union Jack and the U.S. hero, Captain America. We expect comment on this shortly, as clearly authorities have some explaining to do.”

Jesus fucking Christ. _Goddamn it!_

Steve’s presence here couldn’t be a coincidence. He was going to have to be very careful that Steve didn’t end up getting pulled into his plan, because while he was willing to not walk out it the Kronos building, he wasn’t going to let that happen to anyone else. Especially Steve.

Okay. New plan. Instead of going in undercover, he was going to have to get the building locked down early on, right when the guest were arriving, so no one else could get in.

Innocent bystanders weren’t a problem in either case, because there wouldn’t be any in that meeting, but if Steve was after Hydra, too….

He knew which room the meeting would be in. He’d figured that out from the placement, type and ratio of the guards.

As soon as the Hydra elite had gathered, he’d use a sniper rifle to kill a primary target, then use a zip line to go through the weakened window and set off explosives in the room. He was good enough with them that he could utterly destroy the room without bringing the structure down.

It was to the only way to ensure that Steve and whatever buddies he had with him didn’t get in the way or get hurt.

This hadn’t been his first plan, but…maybe it was better. It solved more than one problem.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

From his rooftop vantage point, Steve frowned at the massive and brightly lit Kronos building, small World War 2 planes flying around it in a stupidly risky spectacle, then looked down at the crowd of cars and taxis dropping off the many guests at the Gala.

What was Hydra planning? And where was Bucky? It was a lot easier to figure out what Bucky planned, as the guest list was full of people who might or might not be Hydra. He was certainly here for his own private bloodbath.

They’d found nothing at the docks but a fight on the freighter and bomb making equipment—also a bomb, detonated shortly after their arrival and which had clearly been meant to kill them.

They’d also alerted everyone in London to their presence, including both Hydra and some really pissed off politicians. If Sharon hadn’t had friends in high places and hadn’t pulled so many strings, she’d practically made a rug, things might have gotten very awkward. Or rather, a kind of awkward they couldn’t work around.

Without knowing more about what any of this was about, they’d been forced to separate and watch different high value targets. Something was going to blow up tonight if they didn’t stop it, but what that something was? They had no idea.

Natasha thought that Kronos and Hydra were linked, so he’d chosen to come here with Spitfire, in case Bucky did, and let the rest of the Avengers and Union Jack take the other potential targets.

He couldn’t think why Hydra would attack what might amount to a subsidiary, but maybe the attack was on one of the guests? Or maybe there was no attack. Just an explosive trap for Bucky.

He looked at Spitfire, a pretty blond woman—who didn’t look a day of her 94ish years—knowing his frustration was written all over his face.

Wait a minute…. A blimp? If one was looking for oddities, that was pretty high on the list, especially since it wasn’t heading for the Gala. ‘Where’s that going?’

Jaqueline frowned. “I’d say the parliament buildings. I can get us up to it. It will be close enough in a few minutes.”

She had super speed that allowed her to defy gravity for short periods of time, but the blimp was pretty damn far away and still would be when it was at its closest point.

“You sure, Jacky? I can survive the fall, but….”

She’d die. He couldn’t ask her to take that risk.

Jaqueline grinned at him. “Don’t be a wimp, Steve. Have faith.”

“I have all kinds of faith, but I weigh over 200 pounds.”

“No time to quibble. It’s now or never. Hold on tight.”

Spitfire grabbed his hand and leapt toward the blimp, her speed propelling them to the lighter-than-air craft.

It was a near thing, but they made it to the passenger compartment on the underside and Steve smashed out a window with his shield, pulling them both inside—right into the middle of the Hydra conspirators. “Find the bombs, I’ll take care of them.”

Throwing his shield, Steve knocking two down then waded into the fray. Most were no match for him, but there were a lot of them and one was strong enough to keep him on his toes.

Suspiciously strong.

Had Hydra managed to create another super soldier besides Bucky? Bucky left this guy in the dust, but the possibility was still worrying.

Steve swung at the maybe-super-soldier and connected with a good, solid hit. It didn’t even phase him, although he did stumble over one of his buddies lying on the floor, and said “I will rip your head from your body.”

Spitfire rushed back into the room.

“I took care of the thug minding the bombs, but there’s a fire in the compartment.”

Steve’s eyes widened. He dodged a blow, then landed a punch to his opponent’s stomach.

Spitfire must have caught his expression, because she said, “They don’t use hydrogen in dirigibles any more. It’s not going to explode. It _is_ going to burn and crash, though.”

“Get out of here, Jacky. Turn the ship toward the Thames and get out of here.”

“Absolutely not! Your track record with flying bomb-laden vehicles to safety is _abysmal_.”

The enemy super soldier kept up a steady stream of the usual—‘I’m going to kill you, you’re not so fast, I’m stronger than you.’ It was all pretty predictable and he’s heard it from tougher guys—although this one was a pain in the ass.

Steve picked up his shield and bashed the ‘definitely-super-soldier’ in the face.

 “I need to stay to deal with this idiot, Jacky. Go! It’s not like I’m going to get lost in the river.”

Spitfire turned the air ship toward the river then said, “Be careful Steve.” She raced from the blimp.

The Hydra super soldier let out a yell and lunged at him, knocking him back to the broken window. Steve was unable to avoid the pile driver punch that followed, and found himself dangling from the window of the blimp by one hand.

Even so, he felt the rush of hot air as flame swept through the cabin, and spread upwards to the balloon.

It may not have exploded like the Hindenburg, but it still made a big bang and a hell of a lot of fire.

Steve glanced down and saw that the burning zeppelin was near the roof of an apartment tower next to the Kronos building.

He swung his weight toward the corner of the building, letting go as he swung forward, ending up scrabbling to grab the stone that edged the rooftop. It was a near thing, but managed to hold on and pull himself onto the roof.

The zeppelin… He turned to see where it was landing and saw it plummet to the bank of the river, dangerously close to a low building, but hopefully the water would put the fire out before it spread.

Steve was still watching the crash when he heard something strange—something on the ground below.

The asphalt of the parking lot of the Kronos building started to buckle, cars flipped over and were crushes by rock and soil churning up from below.

Something started to rise from under the ground. Something huge. Something he recognized from the war. “Good God, no!”

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Winter Soldier steadied the sniper rifle and looked through the scope into a scene that looked more like a party than a meeting. It was a who’s who of the upper echelon of Hydra. Exactly what he’d hoped for.

Ignoring a nagging inner voice that was telling him that this was a bad plan, he watched his chosen target approach the window, a man who could be said to deserve death more than any other target in the room.

His finger rested lightly on the trigger as he stilled his breathing and prepared to fire.

The target grinned, smiling broadly at something he saw in the sky out of the Winter Soldier’s sight.

The Winter Soldier frowned. “What the hell are you smiling about?”

He took his finger from the trigger and turned to see a burning zeppelin just behind him

Oh Jesus fucking Christ! Why the goddamn hell was Steve dangling out of the damn thing?

Damn it!

Of course Steve was dangling from the only dangerous thing within sight. Fucking _of course._

The Winter Soldier ran across the rooftop toward Steve, stopping at the edge and watching helplessly as a whoosh of flame engulfed the airship and Steve fell.

He caught the edge of a nearby rooftop--barely.

The Winter Soldier held his breath as he watched Steve holding on by his fingertips, trying to pull himself to safety.

“Goddamn it, Steve….”

He knew that Steve could probably survive the fall, but the idea of him falling all the way to the ground made the Winter Soldier feel vaguely nauseous, although he wasn’t sure why.

Steve pulled himself up, adjusting his grip a couple times in a way that made the Winter Soldier’s breath catch, but he managed to pull himself onto the roof.

The Winter Soldier let out the breath he’d been holding.

Okay, good. Steve survived another plan that fucking wasn’t.

Steve was okay.

He heard a loud grinding sound directly below him.

What the hell? He looked over the edge of the roof.

Something started to emerge from the ground, climbing up through the ruins of the disintegrating parking lot and the cars that had been parked there.

It was an impossibly large robot, almost as tall as the roof on which the Winter Soldier stood, and the beam that shot from its eyes, obliterating a small plane, was sickeningly familiar.

That was tesseract power. The kind used in the weapons that the Red Skull had the 107th building in the slave labor camp in Abruzzo. The kind he’d been forced to build himself, before Zola had turned him into a lab rat.

“Son of a _bitch!”_

The robot started firing into the buildings around it, blasting holes in walls and starting fires blazing wherever the beam hit.

As it turned toward the crowds at the base of the Kronos building, the Winter Soldier saw Steve leap from the roof, down toward its shoulder, but it knocked him through the window of an apartment building and out of sight.

The Winter Soldier dropped into a crouch, and as the World War Two era robot passed by him, straightened his legs and leapt onto its back.

He started punching a metal plate on the back of its head with his metal arm—an access panel, it looked like. “Break, damn you! _Break!”_

He could see a loose edge forming, then widening. The panel might be made of something impenetrable, but the rivets that held it on weren’t.

The robot’s head swivelled all the way around, like an owl, and the Winter Soldier found himself staring right into one of the glowing blue ‘eyes’, tesseract power flaring to life. “Oh…”

“Bucky! Get out of there!”

Steve came out of nowhere, tackling him and sending them both careening into a double decker bus below.

“What the hell were you thinking, Buck? Do you know what that is?”

“Some kinda fuckin’ Red Skull deathbot, Steve. _Obviously_. I recognize tesseract power when I see it.”

“Yeah, well, then you shoulda—“

The bus exploded in a blast of blue light, and Steve—no, Cap. This was one hundred percent Captain America, he was fighting with right now. Captain America, raring to go and all super soldier leadership. This was when Steve really needed Bucky to watch his back and make sure he didn’t do something even more fucking dangerous than he had to.

Steve jumped to the ground. “Move! Go! There’s too many people in these buildings! We need to lead it away!”

They charged through the streets, heading toward the docks.

Bucky stopped and looked back to see that it was working. The robot was following. “Why the hell is it following us?”

“It’s a Red Skull weapon. I thought I might be a secondary objective. Good thing I was right.” Steve grinned at him. “Hopefully, I can use that to our advantage and we can save this city.”

They ran a few blocks further until they were at the edge of the river.

Bucky looked at Steve and said, “That panel I was punching. I think I can get it off if I can keep from being fried by that beam.”

Steve nodded and fumbled with a pouch on his belt. “Here, Buck. Take this.”

“What is it?”

“Concussion charge. I’ll keep it busy. You get to that panel of and hit the target.”

Bucky shook his head. “I have something better.”

Steve turned away to run smack into stupid.

“Steve, wait! I don’t… I’m s—“

“No time. “ Steve grinned at him again. “We’ll talk later.”

He jumped onto the roof of a car and yelled, “ Hey, Deathbot. Ya big computerized ape! Over here!”

The robot’s head swivelled toward Steve, a blast of tesseract power firing from its eyes toward him.

Steve braced himself and lifted his shield, angling it so that the blue beam hit it then reflected back toward the robot’s ‘knee.’ 

It collapsed to the ground, its head turning to target Steve again.

“Bucky! Now!”

Bucky ran forward and jumped onto the ‘deathbot’s’ back, dug his metal fingers into the gap he’s made between plates and ripped it off, throwing it off to the side.

He pulled the explosives off his chest, where he’d had them secured for easy access after breaching the Hydra meeting room. Pushing the detonator switch, he threw live explosives into the panel.

The massive head turned toward him, a beam of light blinding him and blowing off half his bionic arm, the heat of the blast travelling up what was left of his arm and burning his skin. “Shit!”

The explosives detonated inside the metal hide of the robot, but the concussive force was still enough to knock him back twenty feet. He rolled to his feet to see Steve running toward him.

_“Bucky!”_

There was a massive secondary explosion, and the cracking, hollow shell that was all that was left of the robot tipped forward into the water, engulfed in flames.

As Steve turned to look at the robot, Bucky’s lips tightened.

Time to go.

He ran into the darkness and the shelter of the ruined buildings around them, hearing Steve say, “We did it, Bucky! Just like…”

Steve’s voice trailed off and Bucky knew Steve had noticed he was gone, but Steve continued, disappointment coloring his voice. ”…the old days….”

Bucky stopped, hidden by darkness, far away enough not to be seen, and leaned against a wall, fighting the urge to turn around and go back.

He heard Steve say, “Dammit, Buck… You don’t have to run. Not anymore….”

But he did. He was supposed to die tonight, taking all of Hydra’s leadership with him and ending the threat of Hydra’s most dangerous weapon, paying for everything he’d done.

He wasn’t supposed to go _home_ —but now he was alive, his arm was ruined, and that made him pretty much good for nothing. Hydra would come after him and….

Bucky’s eyes burned and he blinked hard.

 _Move_ , goddamn it. Get it the fuck together and get out of here, ya shit for brains fucking sad sack. What’re ya gonna do, dump this on Steve? Lead Hydra to him? Fuckin’ loser. _Run._

He ran.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one. More of an epilogue than a full chapter. The story will continue in Part three, back in the present day and with Bucky in New York, picking up from where part one ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue comes from the comics here--what's on the TV and the conversation at the end, although both have been adapted slightly to fit the story.

Who was he now?

He looked at his ruined arm.

Who was he besides a weapon who was now as useless as an empty gun?

He still had his strength, speed and healing, but with only one arm. He was at a disadvantage.

His mission was over.

He’d failed in his objective and now there was no way to continue it, not without his arm.

The Winter Soldier had failed his mission because someone who was more like Bucky Barnes than the Winter Soldier had thrown the mission away for Steve Rogers and people who had no bearing on his mission.

The Winter Soldier wouldn’t have abandoned his mission without a second thought, especially when it was as important as taking out all of Hydra’s leadership at once. Especially when the odds of having the same chance again were negligible, even if his arm hadn’t been so badly damaged.

He wasn’t Bucky Barnes and, now, he wasn’t the Winter Soldier, either.

Who was he? And what the hell was he supposed to do?

He looked around the shabby hotel room he’d found after leaving the docks and where he’d been for almost two days without leaving.

Was this his life? Just…running endlessly from place to place, unable to fight well enough to do anything worthwhile? Unable to have a purpose?

He grimaced, turning on the television in hopes that it would drown out his thoughts for a while.

It was news about the attack on the Kronas building. He wasn’t in it, thank god, but Steve was.

_“The so-called ‘sleeper’ robot was subdued by Captain America, working with Union Jack and Spitfire, all of whom declined comment.”_

The footage switched to the Hydra asshole that he’s had his rifle aimed at—the one he’d seen smiling as Steve hung from the burning zeppelin.

This was new to him, although they might have been showing it for a while. He hadn't turned the television on since right after he'd gotten the room.

_“...However Kronas’s CEO surprised the world by issuing this public statement….”_

The 'CEO' looked concerned, angry, but there was smugness underneath, manipulation when he spoke, but only visible if one had lived with that as long as he had.

 _“_ _These men in masks, whether working alongside the law or against it, can be allowed to bring us terror no more.”_

In that moment, he put it together. There was more, but he didn't need to hear it. He knew.

The whole thing had been a trap—a trap for Captain America and any who stood with him.

It had also been a trap for any who attacked Kronas--a trap for him, since they couldn't have predicted that he’d abandon his own plans to help Steve.

They’d had the foiled bomb attack and the robot to make use of, but they’d probably wanted a slaughter by the Winter Soldier, as well. and a captured or dead Winter Soldier for the news media to chew apart.

How had the CEO—a familiar looking man—expected to survive his attack? Why had he put himself in the midst of the targets?

They’d probably had a way to guarantee his failure—failure beyond his own death—and he had no idea what that might have been.

That was worrisome.

At least whatever they'd planned to pin on him had been averted, because there had certainly been something, and it probably involved the world leaders who'd been invited to the Gala.

The damage was done, whether the Winter Soldier was on the news or not.

Hydra had abandoned the political sector, if only temporarily, and was going to use financial influence to rise again. This was just the first salvo and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

He couldnt fight, he couldn’t let them catch him, but he couldn’t eat a bullet, either. He'd be damned if he'd take himself out of Hydra's way for them.

Even if he found a way to repair his arm, to continue his mission, that would help them, too. Attack by him would be just what they'd hope for.

Damn it all to hell.

He covered his face with the hand he had left.

What was he supposed to do now?

He sat up.

He couldn’t stay here and he couldn’t just keep running. Eventually he’d make a mistake. Sooner or later, they might catch him and there was no way to be sure that they wouldn’t take him alive. He couldn’t predict every possibility so he had to assume it was possible—especially without his arm.

He needed a new arm and there was only one way left to get one and that would take him back to the states.

Problem.

He could avoid Steve…?

No, he fucking couldn’t. If he went back, Steve would find out and there would be no way to make himself unfindable in the circumstances his return would create—not by Captain America.

Steve would expect him to be Bucky, not the in-between person he felt like now, but...he’d felt more like Bucky with Steve than the Winter Soldier.

Mostly, he didn't, though.

He could _act_ like Bucky. He didn’t think he’d always be able to feel like Bucky, but with Steve around, maybe he could be more Bucky than the Winter Soldier?

He could always leave when he didn’t, keep his distance….

But what about Natalia? He didn’t feel like Bucky when he thought about her. He felt like the Winter Soldier, but a different Winter Soldier. A Winter Soldier who wasn’t Hydra’s Winter Soldier, closer to Bucky Barnes, but still the Winter Soldier.

If he went back, he’d have to avoid her until he figured things out.

Who the hell was he? 

He got up and started pacing back and forth in front of the television, no longer hearing its noise, but hearing the circling thoughts in his head instead.

He could see nothing but mission failure. It was unacceptable. Failure and no clear way forward, risks to every possible course of action. Risks of harming people he didn’t wish to harm and aiding those he wanted dead. Dead and dismembered and strewn behind him in a grisly path. Dead and with their—

 _Fucking stop!_ Concentrate. Priority assessment—one, stay out of Hydra hands—two, get a _new fucking arm_.

That left only one choice and he’d have to figure the rest out as he went. It didn’t matter what they called him. It didn’t matter who they thought he was. It only mattered that he was a functional weapon against Hydra and that they couldn’t use him to forward their goals or against Steve.

He had no choice.

James Buchannan “Bucky” Barnes, the Winter Soldier, pulled out a burner phone and dialed a number he hadn’t expected to use.

“All right, you win. I want to come in…yeah, I saw the news…I don’t know. I just…I couldn’t face him, not yet.”

He sat back down, the phone held to his ear.

“Look, I’ll be on the 2 pm train to Paris. Can I get an extraction from France? Okay, great. I’ll be there tomorrow. Oh, and one more thing, Fury…I’m gonna need a new arm.” He smiled thinly. “Yeah, I know. Just get me out of Europe and the arm takes as long as it takes. I can lie low until it’s done…no. Don’t say anything. I’ll do that when I’m ready.”

He ended the call.

Time to go. If anyone could find a way for him to fight Hydra without hurting Steve, it would be Fury.

He'd done his research. He knew who he was dealing with.

Fuck, he hoped this wasn’t as bad an idea as it felt like it was.


End file.
